


From the Abyss to Light

by Iithril



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Hydra (Marvel), Knights - Freeform, M/M, Recovery, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27781030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iithril/pseuds/Iithril
Summary: Bucky is a broken soul in Hydra's hands, unwilling to trust anyone, giving up on hope. There can't be light for him.Lord Stark is part of the Royal Special Force against Hydra. He prides himself on his kindness.When the Winter Soldier is found in a deserted Hydra's base, Lord Stark takes him under his roof in order to get information out of the assassin. Neither of them expects feelings to get in the way, and yet.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Comments: 24
Kudos: 100
Collections: Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MassiveSpaceWren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MassiveSpaceWren/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Lord Stark](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/719113) by MassiveSpaceWren. 



> Here it is, my participation for the [Marvel Reverse Big Bang](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/MarvelReverseBigBang2020)!
> 
> Based on [MassiveSpaceWren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/massivespacewren)'s gorgeous art, go shower her with love! She has been an incredible cheerleader, leaving supporting messages (and a lot of key smashes as well), and her art is just _so beautiful_. It was an absolute pleasure to work with her! 
> 
> A huge heartfelt thank you to [EachPeachPearPlum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EachPeachPearPlum) for betaing, translating my thoughts into proper words and keeping the story consistent. You're the best.
    
    
      
    

Something was wrong, but Bucky didn't know what. He barely knew anything at all, apart from pain and silence and his hoarse, strangled cries when one of his jailers visited him. 

  
  


Sometimes his consciousness slipped away to a better place as he retreated behind the walls they had made him built. Then, the world was easier to deal with. Colder, simpler. People were either his target or they were insignificant, and he only paid attention to his surroundings to assess how best to complete his mission. When he thought like that, he didn't feel the pain anymore.

Well, that wasn't exactly accurate. He still felt the pain, because his body was still human and his jailers were creative enough to find endless ways of inflicting suffering. They always said it was to make him stronger, but they didn't realise it shattered him into little shards, one after the other, and those shards were sharp enough to wound his soul. But the ache he felt deep into his bones only existed to be analysed and quantified. It would slow him down, restrict his range of movement, and that was all. 

When he was in that state, the success of his mission was the only thing that mattered. He could ignore the scars and the smells, the maniacal laughs and, even worse, the worried whispers that rang in his ears sometimes, telling him he would soon be free, soon be better. Those were the worst.

Bucky couldn't allow himself to hope anymore. He had tried already, and it wasn't for him. 

It had been woven in his soul at first. Hope that someone would find him. That someone would stop the pain, the torture, the changes they had made to his body and his mind. That with so many people surrounding him every day, building him into the weapon they wanted him to be, one of them would prove human enough to set him free and never to return.

But hope had proven futile. They had tricked him, had used decoys and lies to make him believe his suffering would soon be over, only to mercilessly shatter him again, the pain worse by his brief belief that it might stop. All he was was a body used to kill, and left in the darkness, alone and in silence the rest of the time.

Bucky wanted to feel numb, yet he never could. In all the time – was it years, decades, months? He couldn't tell – he had spent in his cell, he had tried to let go countless times, but something in him had brought him back, relentlessly, and he had given up at some point. He couldn't have numbness, so he had turned to analysis. That way there was no hope, no fear, no feelings. Just the everlasting wait and the brief seconds he spent outside, in places he had no memory of, killing people he didn't know for reasons he couldn't bring himself to care about.

Now, something was wrong. He knew he was held in some kind of a base, hidden underground, where even light couldn't reach him. Occasionally, he heard thunder outside, rumbling like the ferocious charge of a hundred war horses, and he missed the world. 

Today was another type of noise. It was the rustling of clothes, the creak of doors, and the ringing of shoes on the stone floor, and the whole base was in an uproar, which had never happened in all the time they had kept him here. He heard voices shouting outside his cell, and they mentioned him, "The Asset", and there were questions and panic in the air, but the door to his cell stayed closed.

Then, as soon as it had started, the noise vanished. The echoes of heels in the corridors faded, the slam of doors halted and the voices died out, leaving him in complete silence.

It was eerie. Impossible. He was never alone in the building, he was too valuable to them. Surely this was another kind of trick to see if he would try to run, to see if he needed to be taught again that there was no way of escaping his fate.

So he didn't move an inch. He stayed sitting in a corner, hunched over, his head buried in his hands, counting his breath. Up to ten, starting over. Up to ten, starting over again. It kept away the thoughts, the temptation that was still there, deeply ingrained in him like a weed, and it let time flow around him, invisible. It was impossible to tell if it was day or night, and he had lost track of the seasons a long time ago – the last time he had been let loose was in winter, but he doesn’t know how many months have passed since then – but he knew someone would come for him at some point. He just had to wait, prove he had learnt his lesson. Maybe that would keep him from being punished again.

Finally, he heard footsteps coming his way. He didn't dare move, bracing for the pain, and wishing he could just disappear, finally ending it all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the chapter featuring [MassiveSpaceWren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/massivespacewren)'s amazing art, the piece that inspired this story! Don't forget to send her love, she was an absolute joy to work with.

"We’ve found it, Sir!"

The words were unexpected, but Tony welcomed them with a grin. He thanked the officer who had brought him the news, then watched as the man returned to his battalion with a smile, proud to have delivered something that had pleased Lord Stark.

Tony had known for quite a long time that there was a Hydra base hidden near the rifts that sank deep into the ground towards the country’s southern border – a few words from a spy, rumours caught hanging in the air – but there had been no proof, only infuriating hints. 

Despite the lack of evidence, he hadn't given up on finding it; that wasn't in his blood. Instead, he had increased the patrols, sent more spies and tried to lure them out. And it had finally paid off.

"I told you we would find it sooner or later, Jarvis!" He winked triumphantly at his dear assistant, who offered him a thin smile.

"You're right, Sir.”

"Go and fetch my armour now, please." Tony was already vibrating with the prospect of battle, the thrill of a fight and the mere possibility of disbanding yet another Hydra base. The organisation had plagued their lands for decades, and it was more than time to put an end to their reign of terror and their schemes.

"Sir, if I may, your armour won't be appropriate for fighting in such a close space. I would suggest that you wait until the area is secure to inspect it." Jarvis' tone was as respectful as always, but Tony sighed nonetheless.

"You ruin all my fun." He pouted for a second, then decided his mood was too good to pout and beamed again. Jarvis had a point, and Tony would have all the time he wanted to search the place and try to gather some information on Hydra after it was secured.

So he waited until the scouts came back again, informing him the base had been found empty of everyone and almost everything, apart from a room they couldn't get into. The lock was apparently too complex for them to pick, and Hydra had taken the key with them. Thrilled by the challenge, Tony spurred his horse and galloped to the edge of the rift. 

Of course, Jarvis followed closely, impassive as always, taking with him Lord Stark's box of tools, marked with his personal stamp, and behind him, the two knights in charge of protecting Lord Stark for the day. They all dismounted near the rift, then descended the ladders, escorted by a few guards carrying torches. It was almost pitch black down there, as only a few rays of light managed to reach them, and there was a cold, unpleasant draft that blew at the torches.

Tony decided to play nice and let the guards walk in front of him, using the opportunity to look around. The base had seemingly been carved into the side of the rift; the rifts tended to narrow sharply about thirty feet below the surface, before widening again a few feet later, and Hydra had used this feature to their advantage, creating a vast network of underground tunnels with only a handful of well-hidden entrances. The corridors were large and the walls were set with stands ready to receive torches. A few had already been placed and set alight by the first soldiers that had reached the base.

"There are apparently still traces of recent activity, Sir. Somehow, they must have heard of our attack and fled," Jarvis informed him after having discussed with several guards along the way. 

Tony was too busy staring at everything he could lay his eyes on to answer him. He was trying to imagine what had filled the empty spaces devoid of dust. It was a bit frustrating that they hadn’t managed to catch anybody, as it meant Hydra's agents would only relocate their base elsewhere, but he would make the most of what he had.

The guards guided Jarvis and him to the door that had resisted their efforts. It was made of steel, thick and clearly sturdy, since it hadn't even bent under the battering ram's assaults. The lock looked simple, but as Tony peered inside the keyhole, he let out a whistle. It was quite elaborate work, and he would be proud to vanquish it. 

Jarvis put his tool box next to him, and Tony got to work.

He first visualised the insides of the lock, calling for a guard to bring a torch closer, drawing the parts he could see on the ground in chalk, then guessing the rest. The challenge was to bring a new perspective. There was always a path to follow, obviously, but he had to understand how the cogs and pieces moved, both individually and as part of the whole lock.

It must require two keys to be opened, and quite fancy keys at that. The mechanism prevented the door from being forced, with one panel overlapping the other in a way that meant both had to be unlocked for it to open. Fascinating.

Once he was satisfied with his sketch, Tony got his tools out, and poked, twisted and cursed until it finally gave up with a very gratifying noise of the latch moving. He couldn't imagine what was hiding behind the door that had required such a lock to keep people out. Schematics? Plans? Maps showing the positions of other bases? Even better than that?

Forgetting all caution, Tony entered immediately, too impatient to discover the treasures hidden in the room to wait for his guards to secure it first. He blinked a few times, trying to get his eyes accustomed to complete darkness. What he could see of the walls so far was empty, but perhaps there was information written directly on the walls, or even hidden somewhere.

Something moved in a corner, and Tony stilled, holding his breath. Was it an animal that Hydra was hiding? Had they been experimenting?

When he managed to ignore the thundering sound of his heart, he realised there was the sound of breathing coming from the corner where something had moved. As his eyes got used to the dim light filtering from behind him, Tony managed to distinguish a vague shape. 

Whatever it was, it was small and probably quite weak, because the breathing was reedy and frail. He took a few steps, and heard someone coming with a torch. Light suddenly flooded the room, illuminating the walls, devoid of any colour except splatters of various shades of browns; the floor, dusty and uneven; and the person crouching in a corner, desperately trying to hide from the light.

_Wait a second. A person?_

Tony was taken aback. Such a complex lock for a person? Who could they be? What kind of prisoner deserved such inhumane treatment, without light, without any kind of bed or lavatory and, more importantly, without water or food since the base had been emptied?

He felt rage surging up and taking possession of his body, to the point where he was shaking. He walked closer to the poor soul and extended a hand to help them to their feet. He was going to take care of them first, and repair what Hydra had done to them.

His blood turned cold and his heart missed a beat when the person completely changed attitude, rising to their feet on their own and holding their head high, staring at him with a defiant look. 

They – he, actually; now that the prisoner was standing up, Tony could see that he was a man – had mid-length dark hair that hadn't seen the water of a bath for too long, a well-defined chin and breathtaking blue eyes that for now were devoid of emotion, only reflecting the flickering flames of the torch. Tony knew that the man had a red star tattooed on his left shoulder, and he also knew exactly who the man was.

He was a man who had killed hundreds of people over the years. He was a creature of Hydra, their great creation, a fearsome soldier and a ruthless assassin. On his hands was the blood of entire families, castles slaughtered in one night without a cry to shatter the silence. It was said he knew everything and everyone in Hydra, and only followed orders from the highest officers of the organisation.

He was the Winter Soldier, and he was pitiful. But Tony couldn't allow himself to pity him, not with everything the Soldier had done.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings concerning this chapter are to be found in the end notes.

As soon as his knights identified the Winter Soldier, they drew their weapons, ready to defend their lord with their lives. 

After the longest seconds of Tony's life, they realised that Hydra's most prized asset had been chained to the wall with steel handcuffs that cut into his skin, and he could hardly stand. 

They still insisted on searching him to make sure he wasn't carrying any weapon under his torn rags, then carefully, with a sword under his chin and two pointed at his back, freed him from his handcuffs and tied him with ropes, gently enough not to draw more blood from his already damaged wrists.

The Winter Soldier stayed silent as they ascended out of the rift, despite all the questions Tony kept throwing at him. 

Tony ought to threaten him, but couldn't bring himself to do it. He needed the information the man had, as it could save lives and prevent further assassinations. Hell, it could thwart Hydra's plans definitely, put an end to the organisation. The Asset knew the faces of the highest members! He knew who they wanted to kill, and maybe even why!

Tony shouldn't allow himself to feel pity, to have mercy for the man, even though the Soldier was nothing close to a man. 

But that just wasn't the kind of person Tony was. And the poor state of the Soldier didn't match up with the information Tony had. He wanted to understand.

It became even more obvious his file on the Soldier was outdated when they reached the surface. Tony gladly welcomed the rays of sun, realising how stifling it was down there, and took another look at the Winter Soldier. 

He was lean, clearly starving, covered in dust and perhaps worse. His hands were shaking a bit, almost imperceptibly, and, although he was squinting at the sudden brightness, his eyes were roving, looking at everything and everyone, still devoid of any human emotions. It felt like he was analysing his surroundings and planning their murders, and a shiver ran down Tony's spine at the thought. Still, in his current state, Tony was surprised the Soldier could even walk without support.

They gave him a horse, but he silently refused to climb in its back, until Tony, out of patience, nearly threw him across his own saddle and gave the signal to leave the place. He still made sure not to trot for too long, pushing his horse to an even gallop, as trotting in that position was very uncomfortable. The man was an assassin, but that didn't give Tony the right to treat him badly. He was better than Hydra.

That what he said to himself, refusing to admit that the mere thought of further brutalising the man made him sick.

When they arrived at his headquarters, he jumped down and hauled the assassin back off the saddle and on his feet. He had paled even more, and had changed attitude again. He looked frantically terrified, all his limbs shaking, and it made Tony uneasy to see him in this state. It may be only a facade to trick him, but it felt too genuine.

Tony whispered a few words of comfort, nonsense designed as much for himself as for the Winter Soldier, and, escorted by a dozen, very wary guards and the two knights that had accompanied him back from the rifts him, he took the Soldier to his apartments, ordering that a room was prepared amongst the highest ones in the Tower – prisoner or not, he wanted to give the man a window, as he couldn't imagine how it felt to be held captive in the dark behind closed doors. Just a few hours in such a cell would be enough to break Tony and reduce him to a sobbing mess. 

Still, they couldn't risk the Soldier escaping, so to the highest point of Tony's quarters it was. Luckily, he had one of the highest buildings among all the lords, so there was not a chance for the Soldier to escape.

He almost had to carry the man up the last few steps. He felt his frantic heartbeat under his palm, and his heart sank again. It was too real, too close to what Tony felt when he panicked, to be a ploy. 

They stumbled together into the room Tony's servants had prepared. It had a large window offering a view on the nearest mountains, a single bed in a corner, a bathtub filled with hot water – thanks to the system of general heating Tony had designed a few years ago – a chair and fresh clothes.

Tony pointed at the tub and said in a peremptory tone, "Clean yourself up. There’s fresh clothes here," he patted them until the assassin's head turned and his eyes registered the pile, "and I'll come back once you're finished."

He moved to the exit, then, before he closed the door, added, "Just in case you were thinking about it, you can’t escape out the window. It's way too high." 

The latch closed and he waved to the nearby guards to come and stand ready. He seriously doubted the man would try to escape now. It would be more logical to rest, use the resources Tony was too kindly giving him, and escape later, once all his wounds were healed. But Tony wouldn't let that happen.

~°~

Bucky felt exhausted. It was written in his bones, etched into his soul, and the weight of it was the only thing that prevented him from breaking the glass of the window and jumping to his death.

That would be freeing. But he was too tired to even do that. How pathetic.

He contemplated the bath offered to him by this strange man who had opened the door of his cell. He had heard the attempts of the soldiers – they weren't Hydra for sure, he had never heard their voices before, and he knew all the voices that dwelt in the base. Then silence again, until a few scratching noises had come from the door, and eventually it had opened and the man had entered, like an apparition, surrounded by light that had felt blinding to Bucky.

Once more light had been brought in his cell and his eyes had accepted that it shouldn’t burn them anymore, he had managed to look at the man, and he had seen him even more clearly when they had taken him up to the surface. He was shorter than him, with messy short dark hair, a goatee, and kind brown eyes that stared at Bucky with something other than calculation or fear.

It was puzzling to Bucky, because the man – Lord Stark, his guards had called him – had been rough at first, yet not as rough as Bucky had expected an enemy of Hydra to be with their most dreaded killer.

That had been when Bucky was still hiding behind the walls of the Winter Soldier, too afraid to be overwhelmed with what was happening to him. When even the Winter Soldier's mindset couldn't take it any more, Bucky had been forced to process the event properly, and Stark somehow had sensed the difference and had turned kinder, more gentle. He was kind – or naive – enough to give an assassin and an enemy an actual room, a hot bath and new clothes. How had such a man managed to stay alive in the middle of all the schemes and power plays in court?

That wasn't Bucky's problem right now, and probably never would be. He decided that as soon as he was rested enough, he would jump out of the window. He wanted to make sure he didn't fall in bad hands again, and Stark was too kind to keep the  _ Winter Soldier _ of all people in his quarters for long. 

Or worse, it could be nothing but an attempt to put him at ease before shattering him again to make him talk. He knew the deal already, he had been through it all. And he didn't want another round.

With a deep sigh, he slipped out of his rags and walked closer to the bathtub. The lord had ordered him to take a bath, and obeying was the easiest thing to do. He didn't have the mental resources to make decisions right now, and the rational part of his brain knew a bath would do him good. So, careful not to fall, he put a toe in the steaming water. He hissed as the heat hit him, but soon enough he climbed into the tub and sat down, revelling in the warm touch of the water. It was almost overflowing, right at the edges of the tub, but the lord's servants knew their job and it didn’t spill on the floor.

He couldn't remember how long it had been since his last hot bath. Well, a hot bath of  _ water _ at least. It burned his wrists and his ankles, and all the fresh scars engraved in his skin, but it was good pain, for once. He used the bar of soap that was next to it, scrubbed himself and witnessed the water turning greyish and muddy. His hair became softer and less like algae on the top of his head, and for a split second he wished he could let what he had done flow away, let it fade away in hot water with the rest.

He let all air out of his lungs and let himself sink under the surface with his eyes closed. For a second, he felt safe, hidden from the world, with only the soothing sound of the water clapping in his ears and the heat untying his knotted muscles, dissolving a bit of the tension away.

Then he felt terrified at the idea that only a bath was enough to give him hope again, to inspire in him a feeling that could be used as leverage against him, and suddenly he didn't want to be in the water any more. 

He got out quickly, splashing water onto the stones of the floor, and grabbed the towel that had been placed on top of the pile of clothes Lord Stark left him. He dried himself, groaning softly when he gently patted his wounds and made red dots on the towel. They weren’t too visible, fortunately; the towel was the same colour as the clothes – a deep red with vibrant hints of gold here and there. Stark’s colours. He had been given a wool tunic and comfortable pants with the same pattern, and even though he dreaded the feeling, Bucky couldn't help but feel more human now that he was properly dressed and clean.

A loud knock on the door startled him, and he adopted a fighting stance immediately, the reflex buried in his muscles. A soft voice reached him, a bit dulled through the door.

"It's Stark. May I enter?"

When was the last time someone had asked for his permission to do something? That was something he couldn't even remember. His memories of before Hydra were blurred, but since he had been forged into the Winter Soldier, his consent had been trampled on, and he had learnt early on that asking or begging for mercy wouldn't change anything.

He couldn't bring himself to talk, couldn't make a sound escape his lips. He wanted to answer  _ no _ , and  _ yes _ , and he didn't know what he wanted, but he expected the man to lose patience and enter anyway, yet the door stayed closed and there was only another knock, as loud as the first one. The handle of the door didn't move and there was no anger, and that unsettled Bucky so much that he rushed to the door and opened it himself.

Lord Stark looked at him, his chin raised, a bit surprised, but he quickly regained his composure and almost smiled at Bucky before it vanished from his lips. He had changed clothes in the time Bucky was bathing – the same colours as he wore before, but a looser fit and without the cloak – and his cheeks were pink, probably from climbing the stairs. They were long and treacherous and Bucky had thought his heart would burst out of his chest when he had climbed them.

He stepped back to let Stark enter, but the man didn't move until Bucky waved his hand to invite him in more clearly. It felt weird to have a lord – not that Bucky cared, but he sure looked regal – treat a space that was technically his own like it belonged to Bucky, and as if that fact mattered. But again, Bucky scolded himself, it was probably nothing but a ruse to entice him into letting down his guard. It was impossible for him to be treated like a human again, not after what he had done and what he represented.

Nevertheless, Stark walked in only once he was clearly prompted to, and stayed standing in the middle of the room. Bucky didn't feel like giving him the chair, so he sat, and focused on the fool standing and staring at him. He didn't want to talk, and remained braced for the burst of anger and pain that would follow his silence. 

Surprisingly, even if Stark’s eyes were colder than before, there was still a shadow of a smile hovering over his lips. "I believe we haven't been properly introduced before." Stark finally said sternly, and Bucky snorted.

"I'm Anthony Stark, rightful servant to the king and a member of his special force against Hydra." The lord flinched, as if he was about to extend a hand, but stopped in time and waited, staring intensely at Bucky.

"James."

"Excuse me? I didn't hear what you said." Stark tilted his head but didn't move closer, something Bucky was grateful for.

"James Barnes." He managed to say it louder this time, his voice hoarse for having only screamed and stayed silent for too long, and Stark nodded.

"James, huh. Well, nice to meet you, James." The lord crossed his arms in a fancy way and bowed in front of him. 

Bucky wasn't familiar with all the ins and outs of court etiquette, but he had been forced to learn a little for an assassination that required him to infiltrate a neighbouring king’s court. If what Hydra taught him then was to be trusted, Stark had bowed as if Bucky was an equal in rank.

Bucky stayed still, on his guard, his instincts screaming at him that it was a trick, and that the man didn't care. He was just really good at pretending to respect Bucky’s boundaries, only to crush them later on. It was an interesting tactic, to say the least. Hydra had never respected his boundaries, even when they had played nice with him. 

He still didn't intend to talk. His mind was blurry, his head was throbbing, and he knew little about Hydra anyway. And he wanted to jump out the window; he was just too tired to do it for now.

"I imagine..." Stark began. "I imagine that you don't intend to answer my questions about Hydra, right?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow, dumbfounded by the man’s guilelessness. 

He was the Winter Soldier. First of all, how was Stark not scared of him? Bucky knew he looked like shit, barely human and unable to hurt a fly, but such confidence in his weakness hurt his pride.

"Yeah, right. I didn't believe it either. Would have been too easy." Stark continued unperturbed, acting as though he conversed with an assassin while standing awkwardly in the middle of a room every day. It was how he had his breakfast, perhaps.

Bucky felt anger rise, and that surprised him. He thought he had given up on anger a long time ago, that all that remained was ash and embers, but the fire was running hot and high and his fists closed and tightened instinctively.

"I have no reason to believe you." He made a special effort to make his voice loud and clear, and it came a bit menacing. Good. He carried on. "You're an enemy. You're playing nice, but you and I both know you just want what I have on Hydra. Perhaps your good heart is tricking you into making me gifts to make you feel better with what is going to follow."

He rose to his feet, happy to be taller than the lord, and tried to make himself larger, to own his clothes and the poise they conferred on him. "And even if you won't do the dirty job yourself, because you're a lord and well above that, someone will do it on  _ your _ orders. So don't try and pretend, I know the deal. I've been there already, you know."

Stark stared back at him, and Bucky felt a pang of sorrow when he witnessed the fear in the lord’s eyes. He couldn't allow himself to feel, he reminded himself, so he buried his regrets deep down, with everything Hydra had tried to take from him and never could, all those memories that made him who he was. He steeled his heart, added another layer of ice, and just stared back silently, until Stark muttered, "Alright, then," and stormed out of the room.

Only once the door closed behind him did Bucky realise that Stark hadn’t stepped back nor had he trembled despite the threat.

Then the extent of his powerlessness overwhelmed him and he crashed on the bed with a strangled cry, stifling it into the pillow. The Winter Soldier couldn't be heard crying, but Bucky was too tired to be the Winter Soldier for now. He was but a wounded man, inside and out, and he was exhausted. So he let exhaustion roll over him, welcomed the slumber creeping up on him, only hoping there wouldn't be nightmares.

~°~

He slept without dreams. Perhaps he was too tired even for that? 

When he got up, there was a note slid under his door that stated his meal was behind it and that he could retrieve it at any time. Bucky took a look at his reflection in the window, a bit saddened to see that his brand new uniform had wrinkles. When had he ever been concerned about wrinkles? Was he that soft? He shook the thoughts away and examined his most concerning wounds.

His wrists were red and throbbing but it looked clean and it hadn't bled on his bedsheets, which was a nice improvement. His ankles were in the same state. When he ran his fingers over his back, they came back clean. All positive, then.

His stomach grumbled loudly and he carefully opened the door. Several guards were around, and they immediately turned to him. The thought hit him: he wasn't even locked in. Because of how pitiful he looked, Stark hadn't even judged it necessary to put a lock on his door. 

The man was manipulative, reckless  _ and _ arrogant. Not that Bucky could do anything about it, but that didn't improve his mood.

The tray in the front of the door did. It was simple, but it looked like a king's feast after the days of starvation and years of eating indescribable things from the same bowl over and over again, until it had no taste, no texture, no smell.

Now, he had a bowl of steaming vegetables and it looked like there were spices and herbs too, because the smell coming from it was just divine. Next to it was an egg in its shell that had probably been cooked – at least Bucky thought so. Hopefully Stark wasn't in the habit of eating raw eggs in the morning.

  
  


And there was a spoon, which made Bucky cry. Hydra had deprived him of everything that he could have used as a weapon, and that included cutlery. Stark didn't go as far as giving him a knife, but Bucky wasn't forced to eat like an animal. It wasn't much, but he didn't need much, apparently.

  
  


He wiped the tears off his face, grabbed the water jar and gulped it down, finishing it all in one go. His stomach warned him immediately that he shouldn't have done that, so he ate the vegetables and the egg, which  _ was _ cooked, slowly, taking his time and trying to savour it. 

He still finished it too fast for his own liking, but his belly informed him that it was enough for now, and he decided to have a closer look at his room. He might not stay in it for long, but he liked to know his surroundings well. So he got to work.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter include suicidal thoughts and suicide idealisation on Bucky's behalf.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter can be found in the end notes.

Tony was angry at himself. He had always prided himself on his kindness, yet, as Jarvis had warned him more times than he could recall, it was a double sided blade. And he couldn't bring himself to act coldly to a _fucking assassin_.

He had felt a shiver running down his spine when James had risen to his feet and announced he didn't intend to cooperate. It had instantly reminded him who the man in front of him was. Not an innocent, terrified victim of Hydra. He had blood on his hands, some of it from people Tony was close to. He had killed and tortured on Hydra's orders.

But he had looked afraid and confused and hurt when Tony had brought him to the top of his tower. He had looked human again, and Tony had been taken by surprise, immediately reacting like he always did. With kindness. Because that was who he was, even with a murderer. Which was both… worrying and strange.

And there was the fact Tony's hands weren't exactly clean either, which was probably why James's words had hit closer to home than expected. Tony _had_ been to war, protecting the kingdom's borders, mandated by the king. It wasn't the same as slaughtering people in their sleep, but he had taken lives. Many lives.

For now, he was angry, blaming his too kind heart for how the conversation had gone. It wasn't supposed to stray like that.

He still didn't want to torture the man, because that would make him no better than Hydra, and he was still puzzled by the evidence of torture on the Winter Soldier’s body. He also knew he couldn't protect the assassin forever from other people who wanted information from him and didn’t have Tony’s scruples about how they got it.

The fact that he was keeping the Winter Soldier under his roof had already spread like wildfire in court, and other lords, Obadiah first amongst them, might try to pressure Tony into handing him over. They only saw the bigger picture, not the individual casualties that resulted from their methods, and Tony found himself growing further away from them every day. He wasn't like that any more.

He had to find a way to make the Winter Soldier cooperate. For now, he would let some time pass, to sort his feelings out and brace himself for the next confrontation. Because it would certainly be one, given James' last words to him.

~°~

That was a lie. Tony spent the night in his workshop, trying to empty his mind while occupying his hands with practical tasks, and when the sun rose again and peered through the curtains, he climbed the stairs leading to James' room, letting a little of his anger bubble to the surface.

He could use it to guide the conversation, but he needed to be careful not to be controlled by it. He reminded himself that the man he was going to see behind the doors was Hydra's asset, a killer, not some lost boy Tony had saved. He brought back the memories of the Soldier's victims that he had known, and felt the kindness shrivel and hide deep inside him. Good.

He saluted the guards who smiled, happy to receive some attention. Then, he knocked, just as he had done the day before, and waited for an answer. As much as James was an assassin, Tony didn't want to intrude on his privacy. Besides, it might not be the best idea to take such a skilled fighter by surprise. He had no weapon, but he probably didn't need one to take Tony down. 

He didn’t have to wait long before the door opened a bit, enough to let Tony see James, dishevelled and staring at him coldly.

"Morning, James. May I enter?" Tony asked, his tone controlled and flat. He didn't expect the Soldier to let him in after his last burst, yet he opened the door wider and allowed Tony to slip inside before closing it immediately. Like yesterday, he sat down on the chair, leaving Tony standing in the middle of the room. Tony didn't mind, and used the opportunity to look around.

The bath had been used again, and recently, as proved by the splashes of water on the ground. The windows had been opened too, and he had slept in the bed, but it was impeccably made apart from the pillow, in which a face-like shape was still visible.

"What do you want?" James finally asked, still cold.

"Just in case you needed a reminder," Tony began, letting his anger surface as the faces of his old acquaintances and victims of the Soldier flashed in his mind, "you're not really in a position to negotiate. You're under my roof, and therefore under my laws." 

As soon as Tony said that, James' face went blank, emotionless, but Tony couldn’t let compassion change the course of his words. "You said yesterday that you didn't want to cooperate with me. Let me ask you something, then. You’re away from Hydra, and they’re never going to lay their hands on you again. What is keeping you from telling me what I need to know?"

Tony's plan, which had sparked in his head in the middle of the night, was to use the difference between how James was treated by Hydra and how he was being treated by Tony now to prove that he was better off with Tony, in the hope that it might convince James to hand over any information that might help stop Hydra.

It was risky, and he was aware that reminding James of what Hydra had done to him would probably hurt him, but stirring up painful memories was definitely the lesser evil. The Winter Soldier didn't realise there were people on Tony’s side who were just as merciless as him, and much more cruel. And they would be overjoyed at the opportunity to take their revenge.

"You're my enemy. I don't owe you anything." James stated, his voice as devoid of emotions as his face.

"I'm not your enemy. I happen to be part of a side that is opposed to Hydra, which is different. There's nothing personal in that."

James seemed determined to convince himself that Tony was his enemy. Perhaps a way to ensure he wouldn’t give out any information.

"By the way, for an enemy, I'm treating you better than Hydra did." Tony gestured at the room. James' eyes followed his hands, but other than that he stayed perfectly still, not answering.

"You killed hundreds, yet I offer you a bed and food and a nice view. What do you say?"

James searched for Tony's eyes and locked his gaze on them. Then he articulated like it cost him to let the words out, "I say you're a fool for giving me that."

Tony winced, James' voice painfully echoing his own insecurities, and he bit his tongue to hold back the cruel words he wanted to say. He stood tall, defiant, regaining his composure like he had done a thousand times after being personally attacked, and, without looking at James this time, he said, "Well, we'll see who the fool is in a few days, what do you say?"

James raised an eyebrow and shrugged without answering. Tony stormed out of the room, banging the door behind him and ran down the stairs.

He needed to get out, he needed to find a new plan. He needed somewhere he could let his emotions cool down without being made fun of.

So he found Jarvis, just when he was searching for him, and told him to have a horse prepared with rations for a day. He wanted to go back to the rift and Hydra's base again, to search the place like he had intended to before he had stumbled on the Winter Soldier. Perhaps there he could find something to use against James. If not, the silence, stillness and gloom of the place would fit his mood anyway, and he wanted to be alone.

As soon as the horse was saddled and bridled, he jumped on its back and, after a word of thanks to the stable boy, he galloped towards the rift, hoping he would find answers.

~°~

Bucky hated himself. He thought he had hit rock bottom with Hydra, but he now discovered he could dig even further, and it made him ache. It was a pain he couldn't get rid of, a pain that added to the guilt and remorse over all that he had done, and this weight on his soul drained him.

He hadn't meant to hurt Stark like that. As much as he refused to admit it, he was thankful for all the man had given him, yet he was showing his gratitude by insulting his host.

He feared gratitude. He feared being used again, that maybe the lord was toying with his emotions. That didn't make things easier.

He peeked out the window with a deep sigh, and frowned when he spotted a horse galloping at full speed towards the rift, its rider wearing a flamboyant cape in Stark's colours. If he wasn't mistaken, it was the cape the lord had worn when he had found Bucky.

Stark was going back to the base, probably to search it. He wouldn't find anything valuable there; Bucky knew from experience how thorough Hydra were when they emptied a place.

A thought arose, and Bucky clenched his teeth. Stark could find the tools that had been used to change him. Maybe even the words to awake the Soldier, and decide to use them.

It was one of the things Bucky feared the most: to be forced once more into the Soldier's mindset and given a target to hunt and take down. There was little he could do to prevent it, despite all the years he had spent struggling against his own mind, fighting to regain even an ounce of free will. If Stark found the words, Bucky would be broken again. Even if the lord was too kind to use them – _and you just insulted his kindness, well played_ – surely there were some people that wouldn't have any scruples about doing so.

He glanced at the window again as the silhouette of the horse and its rider vanished behind a trail of dust. It was a good time to jump, right? At least it would spare him the ordeal of being forced to kill again. 

Never again, he vowed, even if he had to kill himself to prevent it.

He examined the lock on the window. Nothing too complex; it wouldn't resist him for long. As he searched for something to pick the lock, he realised he was calmer than expected. The idea of ending his life was bringing him peace, and he had no regrets.

Well, that was a lie. He had one regret. He would have liked to have the opportunity to make up for his wrongdoings, and to try to bring about some good in the world, make a start at balancing out his darker deeds. It would be impossible to make up for the lives he had taken, the people turned corpses he had left behind him, but surely there was something he could do. He had learnt he had to live with the guilt, but he wanted to act.

In a way, perhaps it would bring some good to the world if he finally died. The families of his victims would be relieved, if not happy. That would do, right?

Bucky tore a large splinter from under his bed and started to pick the lock using it and the spoon. He didn't want anyone to interrupt him, as he wasn't sure his resolve would resist further inspection, so he focused on the window, feeling the cold touch of metal under his fingers, listening intensely to the soft clicks of the lock opening. Finally, the last of the tumblers turned and the lock opened without a sound.

Bucky gently opened the window, breathed in the hot wind carrying dust and the scents of nature, closing his eyes as it caressed his face, made his hair flutter around him. He climbed onto the window ledge, looking away, far away at the horizon, his hands holding the frame of the window. He wanted to let go, not to slip.

He took a moment to admire the landscape laying its treasures under his eyes. The mountains, their flanks covered with stubborn tiny plants in myriad shades of green and yellow. The plains, barren and deserted, and near the horizon, the rifts where he had lost so many years of his life. It was breathtaking, and he didn't deserve such beauty to welcome him for the foolish thing he was about to do. Soon he would be part of it too, dust drifting across the lands, carried by the winds.

He took his last deep breath, slowly exhaling, and let his hands open, his body lean forward. He was ready.

"Mister Barnes? Are you here?"

At the very last second, an unknown voice echoed from behind his room’s door, and a stupid reflex made Bucky grab the frame again, yanking himself violently against it. He was about to let go for the second time when the door slowly opened and a head poked in.

" _Oh_. Oh no, that won't do. I'm afraid you can't do that, Sir. In fact, I would much appreciate it if you stepped down and closed the window. My master would be quite upset if you... Well, just don't."

"Excuse me, I don't think we've met," Bucky finally growled acidly, annoyed at the audacity of the old man who had entered on his own. He had short hair, mostly grey and white, although hints of brown were visible here and there, and his wrinkles betrayed how much he smiled, but also worried.

For now, he was expressionless, looking at Bucky like he expected him to obey. Of course, he was dressed in Stark's colours. His uniform was impeccable and slightly more elaborate than the one Bucky had been given.

"My apologies, Sir, you're right. If you don't mind, could you step down? I'll introduce myself right after, I promise." His voice was gentle but carried authority. He was a man of power, yet he said he had a master.

"You're Stark's personal servant, aren't you?" It made sense that the guard had let him enter on his own, and that would explain his uniform.

"Well, you're as perspicacious as your reputation said. I expected no less from the Winter Soldier."

Bucky winced inwardly at the mention of the Soldier, and the eyes of Stark's servant glinted before he slightly bowed.

"I'm sorry if I upset you, Sir. I won't mention _that_ again."

"Well, you're a discerning one, too. I’d expect no less from Stark's servant," Bucky answered bitterly, and the old man's lips curved up into the smallest of smiles.

"You can call me Jarvis, Mister Barnes."

"Displeased to meet you, Jarvis."

"Well, the pleasure is mine, I suppose. Could you please step down, now?"

For some reason, Bucky didn't want to jump in front of the old man, who reminded him of some of the people he had been sent to hunt down. He was radiating a strange kind of calm which soothed Bucky. So he stepped down and closed the window, and Jarvis sighed in relief.

"Thank you, Sir."

"Don't thank me, Jarvis, you don't realise the opportunity you just let slip through your hands."

"I'm afraid my master would think differently, Sir."

Bucky snorted as he sat heavily on the edge of his bed. "Your master, Jarvis, is too kind for his own good. He'll soon realise what has been done to me, and how useful I can be as soon as you find the right words."

This was the closest Bucky had ever got to sharing the secret of the Winter Soldier with anyone, but he couldn't bring himself to care. And he had an instinct, the same one that had prevented him from jumping, that told him the servant wouldn't be the one to share his secret.

Bucky cast a look at Jarvis, who wore a peaceful expression, a shadow of a smile hovering over his lips.

"You're right, Sir, my master is often... too eager to fix broken things, even though those things don't want to be fixed, sometimes."

Jarvis stared at him as he said those words, and Bucky shivered. It was clear what he was alluding to, and as much as Bucky didn't like being compared to an object, he sure as hell was broken. To change the subject, he asked, "What brings you here, Jarvis? Since you just interrupted my little flying session, I’d say I have a right to know."

"It's a coincidence, really, Mister Barnes. I merely decided to check on you since my master isn‘t here to do it himself, and I wanted to ask if you needed anything to ease your time here." The servant waited, completely still, until Bucky muttered a few words.

"I... I'm just really tired."

"My master suffers from insomnia and has a lot of trouble getting to sleep," Jarvis said immediately. "His personal healer has concocted a special tincture to ease his sleep. Would you like to try it?"

"I– Yes." Bucky let out, surprised by how relieved he sounded.

Jarvis bowed and Bucky hastily added, "Jarvis? Can you... not tell anyone about the window?"

A kind and warm smile stretched the servant's lips as he answered. "How about we make a deal, Sir? We lock the window again, you give me what you used to pick it, and you agree not to attempt it again?" 

A part of Bucky immediately protested against the idea. He didn’t want to be trapped and without any way out, _again_. He had just angered the lord who was in charge of obtaining information from him, and it was now very likely that Stark might have found the words to force the Soldier to comply.

The rational part of his mind, the one that wasn’t yet blinded by fear, was in favour of Jarvis’ suggestion, at least to preserve the secret about his attempt. Nothing would stop the servant from calling the guards to restrain him and locking the window again if Bucky declined his proposition. Jarvis was giving him a choice. 

Bucky wordlessly walked to the window and swiftly put the lock back, almost wincing when it clicked close. Then he grabbed the splinter he had used, but decided not to hand the spoon over. He couldn’t pick the lock with it alone anyway, and there was no way he would eat like an animal again. He felt like Jarvis knew, from the look the servant gave him, but he stayed silent and graciously accepted the splinter. 

“I won’t… I won’t do it again,” Bucky finally let out in a whisper, averting his eyes, but he saw Jarvis smile anyway. It hurt to willingly give away the key to his only way out, even more than if he had been forced to do so. He was trusting Jarvis, and Stark by extension, not to make him regret his decision, and it was terrifying.

“Thank you, Sir,” Jarvis said warmly, bowing again before opening the door. Just as he was about to close it behind him, he whispered for Bucky's ears only, "You deserve kindness, Sir. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

And then the door closed with a soft noise and Bucky was left alone with his thoughts. He was a bit surprised by the servant, as much as he had been with Stark. If Jarvis was the one who had raised Stark – and he looked old enough for that to be the case – then Bucky understood where Stark's kindness came from. 

Didn’t they realise he was a _fucking assassin_? A killer? An enemy? Or were they only seeing the broken man he was?

It was also worrying how disarming their kindness was. Bucky couldn't continue like that; he needed to scare them away. Let them see the Soldier. Remind them of what his hands had done, what his eyes had seen.

Jarvis' words were devoid of meaning. Bucky didn't deserve kindness. The only act of kindness he wanted was to be put down, for someone to put an end to his suffering. And they refused him that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter include a suicide attempt on Bucky's part, suicidal thougts and suicide idealisation.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter can be found in the end notes.

Tony tied his horse to a post under the shelter his soldiers had built next to the base. He waved at the sentinels, who bowed deeply and didn't question his presence here. Good.

The ladder was securely attached to the rift wall, but Tony was still unsettled by the fact that its end was lost in darkness, despite the fluttering light of torches doing their best to keep it away. This time, he didn't have the thrill of discovery to cover his fear up.

He started to descend nonetheless, watching his every step. He couldn't afford to slip now and fall to his death, not with the Winter Soldier still withholding information from him. His death would be a golden opportunity for the rest of the king’s special force, who were dying to use brute force and tactics mirroring Hydra's to obtain what they wanted.

Thinking about James awoke a turmoil of emotions in Tony. There was anger, still burning, and resentment because of the humiliation. He had been called a fool countless times, yet this time hurt more than the others. He should have expected it, coming from an assassin trained by Hydra. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice, at least.

But there was also sadness. James was clearly broken, both physically and mentally, and he deserved to rest and heal. If he had been forced into killing, as Tony had started to suspect as soon as he had discovered him in a pitch black room behind doors that only locked from the outside, then blaming him was futile. Hydra were the ones responsible.

Tony had stopped fighting on the frontlines and designing weapons for war years ago, instead focusing on diplomacy the best he could. He couldn't find the thrill in battle any more, when he knew he was facing average people from the next kingdom, fighting for petty reasons that only the men in charge thought were important. He couldn't bear to be used. So he understood, in a way.

His feet finally touched the ground and he shivered as he took measure of the silence surrounding him. Tentatively, with small steps, tightly wrapped in his cloak, he made his way back towards the room he had unlocked.

Like Pandora's box, he had let out the bad, but perhaps still hidden in it was something good that he could find and put to use. He walked the empty corridors, looking around, and finally started to understand how vast the base was. It was a good thing he had a good memory and could remember the path he needed to follow almost perfectly, because it was a sprawling maze of cold and dark corridors and doors that opened into nothingness.

But there it was, the door he had opened. He let his hand linger on it, feeling how large and heavy it was. Hydra had ensured the Soldier could never be out on his own. Perhaps because they were scared of him. Or perhaps because they didn't value the human he was, only what he could do.

Tony grabbed a torch next to the door and entered, unconsciously holding his breath. The stains on the walls that he had taken for paint when he was first here looked awfully like blood now that he took a second look at them. The absence of a bed, a chair, a blanket, _anything_ , made Tony's heart ache. He crouched next to a wall and gently ran his palm against it. He was searching for something unusual, perhaps a hidden mechanism, or something engraved in the walls. There had to be _something_. It was impossible to live in such a space without trying to bring some life to it.

He stopped after a few minutes, a bit disappointed, when an idea sprouted in his mind. He brought the torch back to the corridor and slowly, making sure it wouldn't close, he pulled the door to him, until there was almost no light filtering through. He took a deep, ragged breath, struggling not to panic and dash out of the room, and walked to the walls, his hands in front of him. He wanted to know what it had been like for James, even though it sounded like a pretty stupid idea and the perfect opportunity to be trapped here.

A sigh escaped his lips when he found the cold and hard surface under his fingers, and he started to search again, hovering up and down, trying to cover every inch of it, pushing away his fears for now.

He lost track of time. He had to focus on what he was searching for to shut up the worried voices in his head, whispering that he would never find the door again, that he would be trapped here for all eternity. Eventually, he heard James' voice, and it startled him to the point that he stood still, the thundering sound of blood covering his breath, wondering if the Soldier was really here somehow, but it was only his imagination. Yet hearing another voice than his helped keeping the panic at bay, so he decided to talk to him.

" _You understand now. There's nothing here for you, as there was nothing here for me._ "

"It must have been horrible, to be trapped here for so long."

" _So long. You can't even imagine. I lost track too, at some point. Stopped caring._ "

Tony's fingers encountered tiny nicks, all about the same length. He counted more than a thousand before they stopped abruptly and there was only stone again.

" _Sometimes I forgot who I was because of them_."

Tony nodded. He felt like he was losing himself too, when the court became too close to a pit of vipers, when everyone around him whispered and plotted to bite each other's throats. It was hard to stay true to who he had chosen to be, and he was glad Jarvis had been there all those years to prevent him from straying. James never had anyone with him.

" _They tried to take my name from me._ "

Tony felt the curves and rough angles of letters under his hands. He followed them patiently until they revealed a name, written again and again, engraved into the stone until the walls couldn't forget any more, like a scar holding memories.

"Bucky."

James' ghost didn't say anything, but Tony made a mental note to ask him about it. Was Bucky a nickname? Or someone he had known and who had been taken away from him?

" _Both_."

Near the floor, in the corner where the Soldier had been trying to hide when Tony had found him, there were drawings. Very simplistic drawings, of a sun. A shape that felt like a tree with a lot of foliage. A house. And a curve, repeated many times, that didn't make any sense to Tony.

" _They trapped me behind walls._ "

And Tony wasn't sure any more it was his imagination talking or the real James, because the rage barely contained in those words felt true.

" _And when they were afraid walls weren't enough, they trapped me behind words._ "

And words there were indeed. A series of random words that didn't make any sense, but the way they had been carved made Tony shiver. Those were dreaded words, words that had haunted James to the point he had tried to take them out of his mind by letting the stone have them. They were carved angrily, with the same rage he had heard in James' voice, the same helplessness too.

Tony halted the course of his fingers when he realised tears were running down his cheeks, and he curled up and cried. He couldn't fathom such cruelty, he couldn't bear to think about what James had endured.

"But you never stopped hoping, did you?" Tony finally let out with a sob.

" _I tossed hope away from me when they hurt me with it._ "

"But how? How did you stay alive? How did you find the will to live?"

Silence was his only answer and the realisation dawned on him. James didn't want to live any more. That explained why he had been taken aback by Tony's generosity, after having been treated like less than an object by Hydra. And that was why he had snapped at Tony and insulted him. He didn't want kindness. He didn't want to be helped, nor to heal. 

The Winter Soldier wanted to die, because that was the only way for him to be free.

~°~

Bucky was pacing in the room, slowly stretching to test how much he had recovered with a proper night of sleep. He was pretty pleased with how improved his mental processes and physical reflexes were, but a few exercises were still enough to have him out of breath. That wouldn't do. If he wanted to impress Anthony and all the others and convince them he was the Winter Soldier, not a poor manipulated soul, he needed to regain some assurance and physical presence.

He peeked by the window again, just a little, and avoided looking down. Jarvis' last words echoed in his mind as he sighed, and he moved away. He decided to push his bed in the opposite corner to create some space where he could move properly. Then, he started basic warming-up exercises, taking it slow. He knew he had to be gentle with himself if he wanted to recover properly, so he made sure not to push it too far. Just a little.

Soon, sweat started dripping down his cheeks and chin, and the drops that landed on his wrists as he tried push-ups made him wince. His wounds were still fresh and salt wasn't the most pleasant thing he could have put on them. He tried a kick but abandoned the idea as his head started spinning as soon as his foot rose in the air. No kicks for now, noted.

He rounded up his workout with more stretches, enjoying the feeling of his muscles extending under his hands. That felt good, to have control over his own body again, and to get to move freely without being forced to exercise like an animal under the cold eyes of Hydra's minions. Bucky even surprised himself when he realised he was smiling, enjoying the effort despite his poor physical condition.

He was wiping his face with the towel he had been given and considering the idea of taking another bath – with _warm water –_ when he heard footsteps in the corridor coming closer. He stilled, listening closely to try and determine if they were coming to see him or just another round of guards coming up to replace the others already stationed outside. When the noise ended up right in front of his door, he braced for the knock, expecting Tony or Jarvis again.

He stifled a jolt when the door swung open fast enough to hit the wall and leave a mark. A tall, broad, bald man entered, wearing different colours from Anthony, but the same level of finery, if not even more ostentatious. Another lord, then.

It was concerning that the man had come while Anthony wasn't there, but somehow it felt comforting to Bucky that he hadn't knocked nor waited for his permission to enter. It was something he was used to, and it made it easier for him to slide back into the Winter Soldier's mindset.

He decided not to sit down as he had done with Stark. This man was taller than him, and he didn't want to give him yet another advantage. Instead he moved closer to the window, to avoid being cornered against a wall, and waited with his arms crossed.

The lord looked around and let out a low whistle at the amenities in what ought to have been a cell, but on his face was only disdain. He finally glanced at Bucky, scanning him down from head to toe, and the glint of envy that shimmered in his eyes made Bucky increasingly uncomfortable.

It was different from Hydra's contempt and cold appreciation. It had absolutely nothing to do with Anthony's kindness and sorrow. It was almost lustful, and Bucky had to stifle a shiver. His hand started twitching, calling for a weapon to attack, as it was clear as day the man was a threat and had come here with ill intent.

"So you're the Winter Soldier, huh? I was expecting you to look much more dangerous..." The man snorted. "You look like the beggars outside my quarters, and those colours are awful on you."

Bucky stayed silent, letting his mind race and analyse all the weapons that were in the room. Perhaps he could take out the bed headboard and use it as a club. That could work, and he would have the proper distance to prevent any grabbing.

"You're a mute, too? Hydra cut your tongue to prevent you from speaking, maybe?"

It was almost funny to Bucky, because the man's tone was cocky and intended to anger him, yet he didn't dare come closer, leaving a respectable distance between him and Bucky – one that was too large to be covered in one jump. No doubt his own guards were behind the door, ready to intervene. The man was _scared_ , and it felt good.

"You know, Tony is not who he pretends to be. I don't know what he promised you with all this" – the lord waved at the room condescendingly – "but he will not give it to you."

Bucky internally raised an eyebrow, now curious. ‘Tony’ had to refer to Anthony Stark, which meant this man was a close acquaintance since he used a nickname so casually.

"You'll be better off with me, really. In fact, I could use some of your _talents_ for myself, you know."

At those words, Bucky’s anger flared up again, and his mouth acted faster than his mind. "No."

The man shrugged. "So you can talk. I was afraid I would never hear your voice and your secrets, but now I'm relieved."

"I won't help you," Bucky repeated, adamant. That was something he dreaded even more than dying – being forced to kill against his will. Right now, though, given the order, he might have killed the man standing in front of him. The lord felt manipulative and greedy, hungry for power. And the sole fact he had suggested he wanted to use Bucky and his _talents_ , like he had said, was enough to make the hair on the back of Bucky’s neck stand on end.

"You know," the lord said with a wide gesture, "I understand how you feel right now."

_Like hell you do,_ Bucky thought, but he didn't let the words cross his lips. Staying silent and letting the man finish his monologue sounded like the best strategy.

"You're trapped in enemy territory, you can't trust anyone, and you'll soon be pressured to reveal information about your former employer."

Hydra had never felt like an employer, more like an abuser, but once again, Bucky didn't bother to speak, and the lord carried on.

"I'm offering you protection. If you join my court and choose to serve me, all your crimes will be forgiven and you'll have opportunities Hydra would never have given you."

It almost sounded tempting. To be accepted, and to be able to protect the very people he had hurt with his life – it was close to his plan, if the windows didn't call him for a quick fly. Yet his mind kept screaming at him to get away from the lord.

"Tony is a threat to the court. You don't know about it yet, you're freshly arrived after all. You don't know that he's the one who developed the weapons used by the army – the explosives, for example, are solely his creation. He's an agent of mayhem and violence, but unlike you, who has the courage to stand by your deeds and kill by yourself, he lets soldiers do the dirty work and is only there to boast and be congratulated while innocents are killed by what his hands shaped."

A part of Bucky wasn't exactly surprised. No one could have survived in court with such kindness, and he had heard of the explosives before, when another of Hydra’s bases had been razed to the ground with them.

Anthony wasn't much better than Hydra, in a way. They both brought about destruction from behind the scenes, while Bucky was like the soldiers the lord had mentioned, sent to die while others reaped the benefits.

"I want better for our country and our people. I want to bring peace, and ensure our lands are safe from any enemy. If I use you, you would be the head of a team in charge of protecting us, and there would be no more innocents dying because of the greed of one man. The others would fear us enough and wouldn't dare to attack us any more." The lord made a sugary smile at Bucky, all teeth and no warmth, before adding, "Think about it."

"You're no better than the others. And you're a liar." Bucky realised a second too late that he was the one speaking. 

The lord looked surprised by the animosity barely contained in his voice, but he regained his composure fast enough to answer with the same sweet tone. "On the contrary. I've been telling you nothing but the truth! It's your turn to reciprocate. Otherwise, I won't be able to convince the other lords."

"Convince them of what?" Bucky snapped.

"That you can join us, instead of being handed to the tormentor. You are smart. You're loyal. And you're special."

Bucky made sure he was standing tall and square, not hiding any more, and he answered, his eyes fixed on the lord's, his voice ice cold, "Well, you can tell the others you need to find another man to do the dirty job for you and to serve your megalomaniac plans."

The man acted disappointed, his hands falling to his sides as he sighed. He cast a last look at Bucky, like he was imploring him to change his mind, but when he saw the marble statue Bucky had become, he turned around and moved to the door.

As he was about to close it, just like Jarvis had done not so long ago, he whispered for Bucky's ears only, "We'll have you, one way or the other."

Bucky sat in a cold sweat on the edge of the bed, shaking. He knew he had been foolish to expect the lords here could be any better than Hydra, but the betrayal still hurt. 

Especially on Anthony's part – it was easy to be kind when you weren't the one witnessing death and loss. Anthony and Jarvis had almost had Bucky thinking he might have found somewhere better.

And now, with Anthony investigating the base, it was only a matter of time until Bucky was forced into killing again. He didn't care about the unknown lord’s motives, or about Anthony’s. He needed to end it, as he should have done much earlier.

_You deserve kindness_.

Bucky shook his head, but he felt himself slipping out of the Soldier's mindset and back into his hesitation and his cravings.

He yearned for kindness like that Anthony had shown him, and it had almost felt good. He had listened to Bucky, hadn't hit him or ordered someone else to do so, and that wasn't out of fear like the other lord. There had been fear in his eyes, when Bucky had threatened him, looked down on him and played at being menacing, but not before. He had sounded genuine, and that was the worst, because he had almost had Bucky believing him.

_You deserve kindness._

Perhaps he could ask Anthony about the explosives, and the rest. It felt like he was swimming in an ocean of lies, and the only lighthouse he could see was Anthony. Were there rocks hidden in the waves in front of him? Or was it land and safety?

Bucky didn't know. He was torn between giving up, letting go of all of those concerns and surrendering to the call of the void promising him freedom, the hidden depth of the water beneath him offering him an eternal sleep, and standing up, finding another purpose with which to move forward.

He needed to ask Anthony about it, that way he could decide. If the man had found the words, and was who the lord had pretended he was, he wouldn't hesitate to use them. Bucky's next encounter with Anthony would seal the deal, then.

_You deserve kindness_.

The words echoed in his head again, like an order, and Bucky sighed.

He sighed as he realised he had decided to hope again, to have faith in another person even for a moment, and he cried as he prepared for the inevitable downfall, the return to the cruel world which had become his reality.

Then he fell asleep, curled at the edge of the bed, waiting for the man who held his fate in his hands.

~°~

Tony ran out of the room as fast as he could. He had to get back in time, he couldn't allow it to be otherwise. He hastily grabbed a torch and dashed to the ladder, running through the maze and ignoring the corridors calling him, promising him secrets and knowledge about Hydra.

James held it all, and anything left in the base was useless. Tony had learnt everything he needed to know here; the rest would come from the Winter Soldier. Tony wouldn't have it any other way.

He climbed the ladder recklessly, and if his feet slipped a few times, he held tight enough to keep climbing. He blinked a few times when he arrived at the top, the dying rays of the sun lighting up the plain with tones of bloody red and fierce orange. Dusk was already there.

_Please, let me arrive in time_.

He jumped onto his horse's back, spurred it on until he was galloping at full speed, his cloak flapping in the wind.

He leant forward on his horse's neck, following the rhythm of its legs with his whole body, its mane lashing his face. The shape of his tower grew bigger on the horizon, until he passed through the gate opened by frantic soldiers, jumped down in the inner courtyard and hurried to the stairs, his legs burning and his heart beating painfully against his ribs.

All his soldiers let him run without stopping him, making space for him. They knew better than to stop him; he was frequently seen running through his headquarters, especially when he was developing a new invention. They didn't know it was different this time. They didn't know it was a matter of life and death.

He rushed to the room James was in. The guards outside were still and serious, but that didn't mean anything. Tony had given James the perfect opportunity. The highest window of the Tower! A few seconds in the air, and then the world would be rid of the Winter Soldier.

He didn't bother to knock this time, too afraid not to receive an answer and to lose precious seconds, so he pushed it open and came face to face with James.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter include mentions of torture (non graphic) and suicidal thoughts.
> 
> (I promise the 'Recovery' tag is here for a reason, but the road is long and steep. We'll get there!)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter before we enter the second act of this story!

Tony almost stepped back back as he took in James' face, the redness under his eyes, his tousled hair and wrinkled clothes, all of it telling him that he had cried and slept before Tony arrived. James grabbed his arm and pulled him inside before he could retreat, shutting the door without even glancing at the guards outside. 

He released Tony immediately, like he had burnt himself, and began to pace in the small space of his room. The resemblance to a trapped beast was startling, and Tony knew better than to approach him, so he stayed still, waiting for James to calm down and speak. 

"Who's the lord wearing blue and black?" James finally growled without looking at him. 

"Obadiah Stane," Tony answered immediately, pleased to be able to give the information James needed. Then his mind froze for a second before he asked, puzzled, "How do you know him?" 

He had once considered Obadiah a close friend, but that had been before Tony decided to shift his focus from weaponry to armoury and diplomacy, focusing on protecting instead of killing more. Obadiah had taken Tony's decision like a personal betrayal and had never really forgiven him, although he acted normal in court. He had always been jealous of Tony's genius, and of the special position he held, closer to the King than any other lords. He wanted to dominate everything and everyone, a goal Tony had shared for a long time before he had realised it wasn't who he wanted to be. 

It was only after asking the question that Tony realised he already knew the answer. James knowing Obadiah's colours could only mean one thing. "He came to visit you." 

"He came to visit me." 

They spoke at the same time, and if James looked surprised, Tony's face hardened. Obadiah had dared to come into _his_ Tower to talk to _his_ guest without _his_ permission. And not just any guest, the Winter Soldier. He could have caused untold harm to James by hinting that he wanted to use him as an asset – something he probably had done, actually. Perhaps that was what had made James cry like that, until his eyes were all puffy and his lips cracked.

"Who's Bucky?" Tony asked without missing a beat. James flinched and stopped pacing, but didn't question how Tony had learnt the name. 

"I am." 

Well, that was unexpected. 

"You found the words." That wasn't a question. James was merely stating facts, and his voice was devoid of any emotion again.

"Yes." Tony didn't intend to lie now, and he didn't see the point. 

"Will you use them?" 

This time, James' voice trembled with anticipation, and _fear_. Tony noticed the window had been opened, and his stomach dropped when he realised the golden opportunity he had given James with that window. No escape possible, he had thought. Way too high to survive a jump, he had told himself, and never considered that that might be exactly what James wanted. 

But for some reasons, James hadn't jumped. Even after Obadiah's visit, he hadn't let go. 

"I will never," Tony answered, and he made sure his resolve filtered through his words. He didn’t know what those words did, but James was clearly terrified of them, and it cost Tony nothing to promise it. Perhaps a few years ago, when he was still under Obadiah's influence and dreaming of greatness, disconnected from what it meant to be human, he wouldn’t have been so quick to swear it. He would have considered the Soldier somet _hing_ to make good use of, not some _one_ , and if using those words could help him do so, he would definitely have considered it. 

But now, it was unfathomable to him. All he could see was James, shaking, tears coming to his eyes as he sank to the floor with an exhale. All he could see was another soldier sent to war who couldn't live with the decisions that were taken for him, and from him. 

"Thank you." 

It was the tiniest whisper, a strangled cry, and Tony almost missed it. He didn't know how to respond so he offered James his best smile, but it didn't do much since the man had his head buried in his hands and hidden behind a curtain of tangled hair. 

"Do you want me to leave you alone?" Tony enquired, a bit embarrassed at the sight and feeling horribly out of place. 

"No, please, no. Don't." 

"Do you want to talk about something else?" That was what Jarvis used to ask when Tony had a breakdown, and that would help Tony focus on something else, most of the time at least. If he was still able to talk. 

" _Why_?" was the only answer he received, and he blinked. His mind raced to try and find a sensible argument, but his heart spoke first. 

"Because that's not who I am any more." 

"So Obadiah wasn't lying when he accused you of killing people." That, too, wasn't a question. 

"Unfortunately, no," Tony exhaled, shame clawing at him. "But I’m trying to do better, even though I'll probably never be able to make up for what I did." 

"I still don't trust you." 

That stung, but it was honest, and James surely needed honesty right now. No more sugar coated lies and half truths. 

"You don't have to, you know. It won't change anything for me," Tony stated, flashing a tentative smile. 

"No, but... I feel like I want to." James lifted his head and stared at Tony, eyes shimmering with tears. "I know I'll probably regret it, but... I need it." 

Silence settled upon them after James' declaration, but Tony didn't dare to break it.


	7. Chapter 7

A strange routine began to form in the Tower. Bucky sometimes regretted his decision to trust Anthony, but that was his insecurities talking, and he tried not to let them devour him.

He knew, deep inside, that he needed an anchor to prevent himself from drowning – or in his case, flying out the window. It was still tempting, whenever he gazed through the glass and thought about the long road that waited ahead of him. But strangely, every time he leant too close to the edge, Jarvis' words would repeat in his mind. He didn't believe them, couldn't, but they were his safeguard.

He had ups and downs from day to day, and that was exhausting. He wanted to heal and rest and regain his physical ability, recover his reflexes and his strength, but some mornings, he didn't have the energy to get up. Everything felt like too much, and sorrow would overflow him and leave him weeping under his blanket or trembling in a corner.

The flashbacks were the worst. They were prompted by literally anything, and Bucky never expected them. They would appear in his mind when he saw the face of a guard that reminded him of one of his targets. Or when he heard laughter. When the light of the chandeliers in the reception room shone a certain way. When his mind decided he needed to feel bad and regret his decisions.

That was the thing. Some of the kindest guards taking care of him when he was still in Hydra's clutches told him he could let go, because it wasn't him, it was the Soldier. They didn't understand the Soldier and Bucky were the same person. Bucky had taken those decisions, when he could have done literally anything else. Disobey. Fight back. Sabotage their plans.

He had been forced to do this, but it was still him. And he dreaded being forced to do anything again. Anthony had given him his free will back. His consent meant something to the lord.

Bucky almost felt comfortable when he spent time in Anthony's workshop, trying to help him with yet another bizarre invention, on the days when he had the energy to do so. Anthony had told him he would never ask him directly about Hydra, even though Bucky knew how much he needed the information. He didn't let Bucky spend every day in his room, but never blamed him for the days when he was too tired.

Tony opened his workshop to him, let him wander out of the confines of his room, trusting him not to escape. The guards, and Tony's knights, didn't trust him and would tag along whenever he'd go out, but he didn't mind.

The first time he had climbed down the stairs to the floor where Anthony's workshop was, he had been out of breath, a bit shaky, and frantically terrified, so he had climbed up back to his room immediately, and if the guards had looked puzzled by his hastiness, they hadn't said anything.

Later on, when he had discussed this with Anthony in half words and grumbles – the lord was very good at filling the blanks in a conversation anyway, so it wasn't too hard for Bucky – he had learnt that many of the guards were soldiers from the latest war, all of them with demons of their own, and that Anthony had offered them a job when most of the other lords hadn't wanted to. If anything, they wouldn't judge Bucky for his reaction.

It had felt weird to hear Anthony say that, as if Bucky’s reactions were valid and not to be dismissed, as if he mattered just like any other human being.

When he had found the energy to finally visit the workshop, he hadn't been disappointed _at all_ by what he found there. The room was large, but the ceiling was lower than in the rest of the tower, which gave a strange impression of security.

It wasn't stifling or oppressive like Bucky's cell had been. Perhaps because it had a full wall of windows offering a perfect panorama on the landscape around. Perhaps because it was warmly decorated while still being practical, with light wood and thick rugs on the floor. Perhaps because it felt occupied and human, with pieces of wood and metal strewn everywhere and sheets of paper covered in scribbles and half-finished schematics.

Or perhaps it was because Anthony was always there, buzzing around, mumbling to himself or carrying on a conversation almost single-handedly, because Bucky would either collapse in a corner and watch the lord work without saying a word or offer a hand when he felt able to. In those cases, which were rare but nonetheless enjoyed by both of them, Anthony would give gentle orders to Bucky, like "Give me this" or "Hold that in place," and the praises Bucky received when the work was done never failed to make his heart sing.

It also felt weird to receive orders which weren't followed by death or pain, and to be genuinely complimented when his tasks were accomplished.

After the workshop, which he only visited when Anthony was there for fear of being alone in a foreign environment where other lords could come and go freely and stumble on him, he had discovered the gardens, thanks to Jarvis.

The servant had kindly offered to him to show him around on a day where Anthony had been called back to court by the king. The day had passed at a strange pace, following Jarvis’ slow movements, his rhythm of speech and walking pace much slower than anything Bucky was used to. Back with Hydra, he had been made to rush every single time he had been unleashed. He couldn't be let out for too long.

But with Jarvis, everything was... tranquil. He moved fluidly, and sometimes the Soldier in Bucky would identify the moves of a fighter, but there wasn't a single trace of animosity under the servant’s calm composure.

Everything was done in one steady movement, from a starting point to a definite end, and he dodged and moved around distractions and obstacles with ease, juggling with an almost constant flow of information brought to him through letters or messengers.

Bucky soon understood Jarvis was the pillar that held the Tower in place and running when Anthony was too busy fiddling with his inventions or called away by his duties. He was the one handling the minor requests Anthony received on a daily basis, managing the supplying of the tower and all its inhabitants, the soldiers' instructions and all those little details Anthony couldn't take care of in the limited hours of a day.

Still, he found the time to guide Bucky through the Tower, showing him the soldiers' barracks and training quarters from afar, the kitchens and the various reception rooms, greeting the soldiers and other servants by their names, always courteous and gentle. He had taken him to Anthony’s private gardens, concealed behind a narrow path of corridors protruding from the side of the Tower, and it was one of the most beautiful gifts he could have given Bucky.

The first time he had arrived there, walking behind Jarvis, soothed by his peaceful demeanour, he had stood still for a few seconds, thunderstruck. It was a small alcove compared to the rest of the tower, but it was almost entirely open, like a giant balcony covered in greenery.

There was a tiny greenhouse holding a few specimens that needed more heat than the others, and the perfumes of the plants were heady and exotic. All around, trees extended their foliage over the edge, exuberant flowers bloomed with radiant colours, and chirps and birdsong filled the air and covered the other noises of the building, transporting Bucky somewhere far away, somewhere peaceful.

As with the workshop, he almost never went to the garden alone, even though Jarvis had ensured him that nobody except he and Anthony visited the place. Jarvis was a part of Bucky’s visits there, a grounding presence. He didn't talk nearly as much as Anthony, only speaking a few words at a time, but they always rang true or made Bucky think. The silence between them was a comfortable one, and Jarvis showed Bucky how to prune the plants and trees, water them and search for pests. He never gave orders, only demonstrations, then waiting for Bucky to imitate him, and he was never upset when Bucky wasn't interested, or if he was too tired to do anything but sit in a corner and revel in the soft sounds of the rustling trees.

The garden was a marvel of engineering: there was about two yards of soil above the stone platform that was part of the Tower when Anthony had inherited it, and all of it had been hauled up using one of Anthony's inventions. Jarvis talked about his master’s whimsical ideas with a gently teasing tone, sometimes shaking his head like he couldn't believe it even after all these years. 

But he was fond of Anthony, and the bond between them was more than a servant and his lord. From what Bucky had gathered from his conversations with Jarvis, never daring to ask about it outright, Jarvis was the one to raise Anthony after his parents died. Hence the servant’s unusual position within the household and his calm confidence whenever he talked to the lord, speaking with him honestly and unafraid to tell the truth when necessary.

Bucky oscillated a lot between the workshop and the gardens, when he wasn't feeling too disheartened to move. He discovered the joy of taking care of plants in silence, murmuring nonsense and allowing himself to forget everything of the outer world, his universe confined to the limits of the balcony. Sitting next to a massive tree trunk, hidden from any impromptu visitors, listening idly to the birdsong and doing nothing but enjoying the moment.

At some point, he had managed to start counting the days again with little notches on his bed, and he was surprised when he realised it had been more than three months since he had decided to trust Anthony.

Time had flown by quickly, but Bucky felt how healing it had been for him. He wasn't walking on thin ice any more, afraid of a lord breaking into Anthony's territory to reclaim him. He still was assaulted by waves of panic that threatened to drown him, but they had ebbed slightly, becoming less frequent. 

He still had nightmares, visions flashing behind his eyelids, screams filling his ears and the hot, thick smell of fresh blood floating in his room when he woke up drenched in sweat, panting. But they now alternated with completely black nights, uneventful, during which his slumber wasn't troubled by anything, whether dreams or worse.

And finally, on the dawn of the first day of the fourth month, Anthony asked him about Hydra.

They were in his workshop, Bucky sitting in a corner trying not to be a bother and Anthony in the middle of the room, surrounded by schematics and bits and pieces. He was working on a new defence system, and although all the tests he’d conducted so far had been inconclusive, his determination was intact. Bucky admired him a little for that. This relentless optimism despite facing several failures felt foreign to him, but he tried to learn from it. To be kinder to himself, less angry at his weakness and more encouraging with every new step he managed to take.

Anthony was searching through papers, cross-legged and a hand supporting his chin. He turned to Bucky, and innocently asked, "Do Hydra have people to create stuff for them like I do?"

The words floated in the air for a second as Bucky processed both the question and the fact that Anthony was asking him about Hydra. It was a weird choice of a question, Bucky thought at first, but then he realised it was a way of testing if he was ready and willing to answer without probing directly into more painful memories.

Bucky cleared his throat and mumbled, "Yeah, they have a few. Not as talented as you are, though."

Anthony beamed at the compliment, shooting a shining grin at him.

"Do you know what they’ve created so far?" he enquired, averting his eyes from Bucky as if he was afraid his manoeuvre would be revealed if he did.

"The lock holding me, at least."

Anthony snorted immediately, and everything in his stance showed his disdain. He had picked the lock quickly and efficiently, Bucky remembered, but his recollection was blurred and he disliked bringing those memories back at the surface.

"Anything else you remember?"

Bucky thought about it before answering. When he had been at his most obedient and, well, efficient, Hydra had trusted him with more information. And when he had started to break apart, they would often forget about him in a corner or openly discuss their plans in front of him. When he was tied to a chair or chained to the wall, he hadn't mattered. He had been invisible, merely a nuisance with his sobs and grunts.

"I know they were working on some kind of throwable explosive weapon they could control remotely, but I'm not sure if they actually managed to achieve something." Bucky exhaled, his mind starting to spiral down into memories, and in an attempt to hide his distress he jokingly added, "One thing’s for sure, they failed more than you did. I could hear the explosions and swearing from my cell."

He glanced at Anthony, but the lord was writing something down, his tongue peeking out. He hadn't noticed the tremor in Bucky's voice, and Bucky used the distraction to breathe deeply and focus back on his surroundings.

"I... I don't know anything else for sure, I'm sorry," he reluctantly let out, biting his lips and bracing for a burst of rage to come at him, his instincts screaming to protect himself or to flee, since the door of the workshop was wide open.

He flinched when Anthony put down his paper and his quill, and regretted his reaction as soon as he noticed the pained expression hovering on the lord's face for a split second.

"That's alright, Bucky," Anthony let out with a gentle smile, and Bucky did his best not to flinch this time. To hear his name in the lord's voice, to be called by his name again, it broke a dam in him.

And he couldn't bear to cry in front of Anthony, who would without a doubt think it was his fault, when he had done nothing but take care of Bucky as soon as he had realised the Winter Soldier was still human. Bucky couldn't bear his generosity, his overflowing kindness, the fact that he never ordered him to do anything, never pushed him beyond his boundaries.

So he fled. For the first time in his life, he fled not to avoid punishment, not to escape his jailers, but to avoid kindness. To hide his feelings, his insecurities. To hide how moved he was by this simple, little touch of humanity that had been offered to him.

He ran out of the workshop, tears already running down his cheeks, and climbed the stairs back to his room like his life depended on it. Luckily, the soldiers let him go, and he did his best to cover his face with his hair. He didn't want to bring Anthony trouble because of his foolish behaviour. That was the least he could do.

He almost slammed the door to his room behind him but managed to slow its course at the last moment, and it closed with a soft sound, just like the one on his cell in Hydra's base used to do.

He let out a whine, struggling to breathe properly through his tears, and slid down to the floor. The window was slightly open, but it wasn't calling to him any more, he realised. Not even through his usual fog of exhaustion. There was only silence, the sound of his crying and the distant murmurs of the soldiers behind the walls.

After what felt like hours, Bucky let out a ragged sigh and sniffed. His throat burned and his eyes were sore from tears. He stumbled to his feet, wincing as his body thanked him in its own way for having stayed in the same position on a cold floor.

Carefully, he took off his damp tunic and changed into a dry one, then reached for the pitcher a servant always left filled up near his bed. He spilt a bit of water on his tunic and growled, but he quenched his thirst. He sat on the bed, holding the pitcher on his lap, and stared into the void, assessing his feelings. Without thinking about it, he slipped back into the Soldier's mindset, but shook his head and made a conscious effort to come back from it. He needed to confront his feelings properly. He couldn't hide this time. He didn't want to either.

~°~

Tony was a bit worried. Only a bit worried, he muttered to himself.

"No, Sir, you're completely devoured by your anxiety at this point," Jarvis answered, a hint of sarcasm piercing through. He had witnessed his master pace the length of his workshop more times than he was willing to count, and even though his pride forbade to say so, he was getting tired.

"But Jarvis, come on! He basically ran out of the room in tears!" Tony exclaimed, like he had already, also more times Jarvis was willing to count.

"He is recovering, Sir. You should know that it isn't a straightforward path, and that is even more valid in his case."

"Yeah, I know! But–"

"Anthony, if you try to blame yourself one more time, I'll leave this room." There was no threat in Jarvis' tone, it was merely a statement. It proved efficient, as Tony abruptly stopped, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. Had Jarvis not been equally worried, he would have smiled, but this was no time for smiling. Not yet.

"Actually, Jarvis, I was about to ask you what I could do," Tony ultimately let out, crossing his arms and facing his servant. He raised an eyebrow as the hint of a smile stretched Jarvis' lips, refusing to believe Jarvis could be mocking him.

"What do you think your options are, Sir?"

Tony rolled his eyes, and this time he was sure of it, Jarvis had smiled. It didn't feel like mockery, so Tony ignored it, trying to consider his options.

"I could... Well, I could knock at his door, see if he answers." He lifted his head, but Jarvis stayed silent, visibly waiting for more.

"I could send him a message, by a soldier or a servant, so that he doesn't have to face me again, since apparently I make him cry."

"Sir."

"Yes, Jarvis, no more self-deprecation. Bad habit," Tony apologised, but his mind was already running to the next idea.

"I could leave him alone, see when he decides to open his door by himself."

"Good," Jarvis nodded. "Now, what do you _want_ to do?"

There was another silence floating between them, the walls of the workshop thick enough to block all sounds from the outside.

"I want to see him."

"Do you think that is a good idea?"

"Fuck, Jarvis, what do I know about good ideas?" Tony exclaimed again, frustrated that his loyal servant refused to give him a proper answer, forcing him to think by himself.

"No swearing, Sir, please."

"Yes, Jarvis. Bad habit." Tony started to pace again. "I don't think paying him an impromptu visit is good. But I can take him a message, let him choose whether or not he wants to cry again."

A small projectile flew through the room and hit him in the head.

"Now, Sir, if you’ll excuse me, I have a whole tower waiting for me." Jarvis bowed elegantly, completely dismissing Tony's offended look, and walked out of the room at a tranquil pace, a smile finally blooming on his lips.

"Come on, Jarvis, I was only joking," Tony muttered, more to himself than anything else, rubbing his head. Jarvis' aim was still on point even after all these years. He sat down across his chair, grabbed the nearest blank piece of paper he could find, two of his most recent self-filling quills, and rushed to James' room. Well, not James. Bucky.

When he arrived, he dismissed all the guards and his knights, who obeyed immediately, trusting him – and the prisoner. After all the time they had spent watching him be completely harmless, the sayings about the Soldier being a ruthless, mindless killer were now little more than whispers at court, and there was always one of Tony's staff ready to relate a time when Bucky had been kind to them. The court's opinion hadn't completely shifted, Obadiah and his minions made sure of that, but the Tower liked him already.

Tony sat cross-legged on the floor, listening for a moment to the sounds coming from the room. There was no evident sign of crying, but Bucky could have hidden his face in a pillow – Tony would do that often to muffle the noise.

He did his best not to think about the window, easing the pounding of his heart and the icy claws of guilt gnawing at him. Bucky was alive. He scribbled a few words on the sheet, trying to keep them as readable as possible, then he gently pushed the sheet under the door, followed by the quill. And the wait began.

~°~

Bucky was drawn out of his revery by a rustling coming from his door. Afraid someone would try to get in, his eyes snapped open, his body ready to jump up and block the door, but he was surprised to discover a piece of paper with a bit of black on it, and a quill next to it. He got on his feet, the bed creaking when his weight left it, and crouched next to the paper.

_Are you there?_

Bucky blinked a few times, unsure what to think. Given the poor state of the writing, it was obviously from Anthony. But why just a message, instead of knocking on the door?

Bucky realised he was still holding the pitcher, so he put it down next to him, grabbed the quill and wrote down his answer, before pushing down the paper under the door, back to its sender. He considered sending back the quill as well, but a scribbling sound from right behind the door indicated Anthony had brought enough for them both.

~°~

Tony was waiting uncomfortably. He had done his best to try and listen to the sounds coming from the room, and he thought he had heard the bed creaking, but it could have been his imagination.

Anguish was devouring him again, his mind bringing him terrible visions of Bucky down on the pavement, or just... not here anymore. He tried to fight them, pushing them back to the anxious corner of his mind, but they were relentless, each one more violent than the last. It was probably only a matter of seconds before he received his answer, but it was enough for him to apologise a thousand times for making Bucky cry despite his best efforts. If only he hadn't asked about Hydra. If only he had let Bucky speak when he was ready, instead of yielding to the pressure of the other lords and pushing for answers.

The sight of the sheet coming back almost got a cry of joy out of him, and he grabbed it eagerly.

_Where do you want me to be? I can't fly yet._

Tony snorted. Was Bucky bitter or only joking? Either way, he had taken the time to answer, so there was hope. Sticking his tongue out, he wrote his reply, his heart clenching. There was hope, and he didn't want to shatter it. He had learnt to appreciate the man hiding behind the Soldier, and he didn't want to start back at square one, or even worse.

He would do it, if necessary, he realised as he finished his sentence. He would do it all over again, in a heartbeat, if that's what Bucky needed, but he really didn’t want to.

He waited till the ink was dry and sent the paper back, resuming his anxious wait. Well, maybe less anxious now.

~°~

Bucky had stayed next to the door, his back against the wall and his pitcher of water at his side. When the sheet came back, a thin smile stretched his lips. He had tried to make a joke, to ease Anthony's fears, as he knew the lord would blame himself for Bucky's tears.

_Yet is the key word. I can make you wings if you want them_.

Bucky scoffed softly, then noticed another scribble in one corner.

_I'm sorry_.

~°~

Once again, the sheet came back fast, and Tony chose to believe Bucky wasn't mad at him. Especially when he saw his answer.

_No self-deprecation, Anthony_.

~°~

Bucky's fingers were tapping on the pitcher as he waited for the sheet. He meant what he wrote, having discovered after so much time spent at Anthony's side that the lord had a terrible tendency to devalue himself whenever he could.

Jarvis would usually make a remark to break the cycle, and probably had convinced Anthony to come here instead of moping in a corner of his workshop – just like Bucky had moped in his room. Maybe he could use someone like Jarvis at his side.

_Jarvis, stop hiding in James' room_.

Bucky noticed another stroke under the J at the start of his name, where Anthony had started to write Bucky and then changed his mind. He inhaled sharply, fighting the tears back, fighting the Soldier's mindset that crept at the corner of his mind to protect him, and focused on his answer.

_Jarvis isn't here. There's only Bucky._

_May I call you Bucky?_

_Not too often. It's been a long time._

_I'm sorry, again._

_Anthony, please don't blame yourself. It's not your fault. Never was._

~°~

There wasn't any room left on the sheet, covered as it was in their respective writing, even though they both had tried to write as small as possible. Tony stared at the words for what felt like an eternity. Relief crashed over him like a wave, and he got to his feet, the sheet a bit crumpled in his hand. His heart was beating so loud his whole chest was vibrating. He slowly raised his hand, resting it against the hard wood of the door. He held still, exhaled the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, and knocked.

"Hey, Bucky?"

"Yes, Anthony?" answered Bucky's muffled voice, and Tony could have sworn he sounded tearful.

"Could you call me Tony?"

A soft thump made the door vibrate, but Tony didn't move despite desperately wanting to.

"I..." Bucky started, and his voice died at first, yet he carried on, "I think I can. Tony."

Something fluttered in Tony, tickled his heart and made a grin bloom on his face.

"Do you need anything?" he managed to ask, almost choking with joy.

The door handle moved, and Bucky's face peeked out. He was dishevelled again, eyes red and puffy, a shiny trail on his cheek, but he was smiling. Despite everything, he was smiling.

"Actually, I'm a bit hungry. How about a walk to the kitchens?"


	8. Chapter 8

Bucky knew his recovery was far from complete, and his place in Tony’s household was still precarious, but he welcomed each new morning with as big a smile as he could manage. His flashbacks receded, his nights became more and more dreamless – and it was a relief after all the hours of sleep lost to nightmares.

Almost all his wounds were healed by now, and most of them hadn't even left him with scars, except for his wrists, which were still covered in tiny pale pink strokes. He could climb the stairs to his room from the workshop or the kitchens without struggling for breath.

More importantly, the occupants of the Tower had definitely accepted him. There had been suspicion at first, vengeful glares and mocking whispers behind his back, and there still was. His reputation would always follow him; all he could do now was try to live with it and bring some good. And most of the people working under Jarvis' orders had accepted that.

In a way, they weren't the ones who held a grudge against him – he had only killed lords, powerful people. Hydra had never been interested in peasants. The organisation had wanted power, and Bucky had always tried to avoid killing anyone other than his targets. He always chose unused routes when he infiltrated castles and manors, knocking unconscious the guards instead of slicing their throats like Hydra would have liked him to.

So when the people of the Tower had witnessed him talking with their lord, walking with him to his workshop, assisting him with his tests, or at Jarvis' side, always ready to lend a hand, to be useful, they had chosen to give him a chance.

That had been all he had asked for, all he had ever wanted. All that Tony had given him when he had brought him here, offering him a room and allowing him to heal instead of torturing the information out of him.

Bucky was grateful beyond words every time a soldier would wave at him, a servant would greet him or a cook would give him a little extra on his plate with a wink on the pretext that he needed it – just look at how skinny he was, they said! They couldn't decently starve him; they had reputations to uphold!

He felt like he had been offered a place to be Bucky more than the Soldier, and he tried to enjoy the time that was given to him, this respite before the storm that lurked outside of the Tower, raging in court, came to them.

The lords were constantly hounding Tony, asking for information about Hydra, adamantly refusing to believe Bucky didn't have what they wanted. They claimed he was a liar, they insisted he was manipulating Tony, lulling him, waiting for the perfect occasion to slaughter them all.

They argued it was an elaborate scheme, plotted by both Hydra and the Winter Soldier, to put an end to the court and the reign of the king and so they demanded that Tony hand them the Winter Soldier, saying that he was incompetent and easily fooled.

As much as Bucky trusted Tony, he knew he couldn't be shielded from the outside world forever. He would have to face the consequences of his actions at some point. But he almost felt like he could welcome his sentence, if he had the opportunity to make amends. He didn't want to go down, not yet, because he knew that wouldn't bring any peace to all those his murders had wounded.

"What are you thinking about, Sir?"

The gentle voice almost startled Bucky, but he managed not to flinch. He looked up to see Jarvis smiling at him from above, and Bucky gladly accepted the hand he was offered to get on his feet.

"I'm trying not to think, actually."

"Oh," the servant said, as if that explained it all. "That's why you were in the gardens so long you didn't hear the bells ringing for dinner."

Bucky cast a look at the horizon and noticed the sun was indeed dipping behind the mountains, painting the sky in deep hues of red and orange. His feet had taken him to the gardens as he had been torturing himself with some thoughts, and he had tried to find some solace by taking care of the plants just like Jarvis had taught him to. It had earned him a moment of peace, but now that Jarvis was bringing him back to reality, thoughts were swirling in his head again.

"What is bothering you, Sir?" Jarvis enquired, watching Bucky cleaning his hands with a frown on his face.

"Do you always ask questions, Jarvis?" Bucky replied out of the blue, and Jarvis took some seconds to think about his answer.

"I found that I rarely have an answer for the troubles we're all facing. Even if I do, it won't help you to be given a blunt answer. But sometimes, and certainly because of my old age," Jarvis winked at Bucky, "I know you could find the answer by yourself, were you asked the right questions."

"How lucky Tony is to have you by his side," Bucky sighed, and there was a hidden bitterness in his voice.

"We were talking about you, Sir. Don't hide yourself behind lord Stark."

"I'm not!" Bucky let out, louder than he intended. "I know I can't hide in the Tower forever, no matter how much I'd love to. These... vultures out there, they'll claim me at some point, and I'll have to leave this place, and you, and this garden, and... even Tony."

The murmur of the leaves dancing with the wind was the only sound surrounding them for a moment, before Jarvis invited Bucky to sit next to him on the ground with a gesture of his hand. Once they were both sitting comfortably, the last rays of the sun illuminating them, Jarvis spoke.

"I know I can't fathom how you feel, nor how hard it must be for you to live with what you've been forced to do. I watched you arrive here, wounded, lost and angry. I watched my lord being all confused about you, torn between his inherent kindness and his duty to the king. I saved your life, even though my lord would have been better off without you at this time."

Bucky stared at Jarvis, seeing exhaustion deeply woven in the servant's features. The man carried an entire army of people, ordering them, scheming as best as he could to protect his lord, but it took a heavy toll on him.

"I saved you, because just like my lord, I believe in kindness. I watched you heal, face your demons, coming in terms with them. I watched you at my lord's side, discreet, silent, always ready to help. I think... I think you chose him as your new star to guide you."

Jarvis glanced at Bucky, and smiled when Bucky nodded ever so slightly.

"I think my lord appreciates you just as much as you do him, but he hasn't realised it yet. He can be a bit... distracted sometimes."

Bucky scoffed and Jarvis joined him. Distracted? That was putting it mildly.

"My point is," the servant continued, "if you want to stay at his side to protect him, as I think you want to, there is a possibility. A complex one, but it still exists."

Bucky straightened his spine, all his attention directed towards Jarvis. If such a thing was possible, he had to know about it.

"You see, the first king of this country was fond of grandiloquent acts of chivalry. Thus, he created what he called his sworn knights – people that have dedicated their lives to protecting him. A sworn knight's oath is absolute, and can be broken only by the death of the knight. And because it is unconditional, it grants the person who took the oath the right to ask for a royal favour. The tradition has lapsed since, but the oath is still written in the official texts by which the king and his lords abide, and a favour can be granted as a reward for an act of exceptional bravery."

"So what?" Bucky asked bluntly. "I just enter the audience room, save the king's life and ask for a favour?"

"In theory, yes. But you might need to make a more... grandiose move. The king needs to approve. If all the lords except Tony yell and scream that you don't deserve it, he might not do it. But if you manage to have the king's undivided attention until he answers you, I say you have a chance."

Jarvis fell silent. Bucky's mind was racing again. This time, a ray of hope shone through the mist. There was something he could do to tip the scales towards justice, and to serve at Tony's side.

"Thank you, Jarvis."

"Don't thank me yet, please," Jarvis replied softly, almost sorrowful.

Bucky just smiled at him, bold and confident. There was a way. This time, he wouldn't let his helplessness take over him.

~°~

Tony was worried, for a change.

The king had asked him to attend court for the second time this week. He was a lord, thus was granted certain advantages and was treated with a certain level of respect. Yet he knew he was nothing but a pawn to the king, even though their relationship was good.

He had to comply with his every order, for fear his precious freedom would be taken from him. And even though he had earned enough room to manoeuvre thanks to all the services he had provided to the king, his court and his land, it was getting trickier to convince the king that the Winter Soldier had to stay with Tony.

It twisted his stomach, made his heart bleed to lie to the king's face, but he did so nonetheless. He explained that he was gaining the Soldier's trust, that he would soon have the information they needed.

He had already handed over all the designs Bucky could remember, to gain some time, and to prove his point. Obadiah and his clique were pushing, secretly furious at being denied their prey, hungry for his blood. They were blind to his anguish, his torment, just like Tony had been the very first time his eyes had laid on Bucky.

He could hardly blame them, for he had been blinded for years just like they were, and just as thirsty for vengeance. Only when he had painfully realised vengeance could not bring back what had been taken from him had he strayed from that path, broken from the other lords and tried to bring some about good in the midst of all their schemes.

"Tony!"

A loud shout, almost a bark, brought him back to his body – in the king's castle, in the gardens right outside the throne room. He looked around to pinpoint who had called him, even if he already had an idea about it. He knew that voice all too well.

"What is it, Obadiah?"

The man walked over to him, and Tony couldn't help but analyse his every move – the way he squared his shoulders, keeping his hands behind his back to appear even taller, his steps, large and deliberately slow to show he wasn't in a rush, all of it intended to make Tony feel uncomfortable waiting. It was nothing but a power play, a performance for Tony as much as for all the lords and servants quietly observing them, already gossiping furiously.

"It's rare to see you here so frequently, is all." Obadiah's voice was too loud for a private conversation, revealing his intent of exposing Tony.

"Oh, well, you see, the king is really content with all the information I’ve gotten from the Soldier."

"Is that so? I thought you had nothing but schematics, again. Not like we're not used to it."

Tony clenched his jaw and exhaled slowly before answering. Murmurs grew around them, everyone probably commenting on Obadiah's sarcasm.

"Schematics of Hydra's designs, my friends. Powerful advantage on our side – we know what they use, how it works."

Obadiah scoffed, scorn painted on every inch of his face.

"Papers won't save the Soldier forever, Tony."

Tony was about to answer with something far less polite than his rank allowed him to be in public, but the whispers grew louder, to the point where it became clear that his and Obadiah’s conversation wasn't the reason for them.

Obadiah and Tony turned together, trying to get a look at where the commotion was coming from. The same words were seemingly on everyone's lips, almost like a litany, and Tony's blood ran cold when he finally understood.

"The Soldier." 

"It's him." 

"What is he doing here?" 

"He's not as scary as I thought he would be." 

"Dare I say it, he's actually quite handsome." 

"You fools. It's an animal, a murderer. It would kill you in your sleep if given the order." 

"The Winter Soldier is here?" 

"Isn't he staying with Stark?" 

"The Soldier."

Tony dashed to where the crowd had gathered, in front of the main entrance to the gardens. Obadiah stayed behind, and Tony had the time to see a smirk on his lips before he dove into the crowd, pushing and shoving to get through them. As soon as the people around him noticed who he was, they moved apart, allowing him to arrive before everyone else.

Bucky was there. He wasn't alone – most of the guards that usually came with Tony when he visited the king were there, and so was Jarvis. They were all mounted, but not bearing weapons, except for a few guards.

Bucky was dressed in Stark's livery, and he was indeed handsome. Tony realised at this very moment how Bucky had changed and how far he had come since the first time he had worn those clothes.

But it wasn't the right time – Bucky's stance showed his discomfort, and even his mount was trembling, biting its bits and snorting. Next to him, Jarvis's attitude was a stark contrast. Composed as ever, he looked right at Tony with a small smile, his reins slack and his horse staying put. He was holding the reins of a third horse, with Tony's personal saddle on its back – they had come for him, and for some reason Bucky had decided to tag along.

Tony sighed briefly before walking towards them, as collected as he possibly could be with his heart beating so hard he was trembling. He mounted swiftly, grabbing the reins and waved at their audience with a confident smile, before turning around and ordering his horse to walk.

Their horses' shoes made a clashing sound on the immaculate paving of the castle, thankfully covering the discussions coming from all the witnesses.

Tony was flanked by Bucky on his left, Jarvis on his right, and he desperately wanted to reassure Bucky, who was stiff as a board on his saddle, but he knew he couldn't allow any sign of sympathy towards _the_ _Winter Soldier_ in public. Not yet. So he waited, and as soon as they exited the castle, he spurred his horse to a fast gallop, leaving the king's castle and the pit of vipers it was hiding behind them.

~°~

"Did I do something wrong, Tony?"

Bucky hadn't spoken until they had dismounted back at the Tower. Tony was grooming his horse, which was covered in sweat from the ride, and Bucky was leaning against the stall door, arms crossed.

"No, I don't think you did," Tony answered, flashing a smile.

"You don't think?" Bucky asked, and Tony would have mistaken his tone for sarcasm before, but he could see the fear in Bucky's eyes, the trembling of his hands.

"Even I cannot predict how the court will behave. I heard many compliments on your appearance" – Tony could have sworn that was a blush on Bucky's cheeks – "but there also was anger and resentment."

There was a heavy silence, and Tony's horse shifted, turning its head towards its master, its ears inquisitive – wondering why Tony had stopped grooming him.

"There's something I need to tell you," Bucky stated softly.

Tony hated those words. He tried to hide his discomfort with them by changing the brush he was using, and Bucky took it as a signal to carry on.

"I think... I'm not sure, so don't take my words for the truth, but I think I recognised someone in the crowd, near the lord that was talking to you."

"By 'recognise', you mean as in during one of your missions, among the lords you were sent against?"

"No." Bucky visibly swallowed. "I mean from when I was in a cell in Hydra's base."

" _Oh_."

Before Tony could say anything, Bucky added, "Like I said, I'm not entirely sure. It could just be someone who looked like him."

"Trust your judgement, Bucky." It was critical that he knew for sure. "Could it have been one of Hydra's minions talking to Obadiah?"

Bucky nodded gravely. 

Tony swore loudly, causing his horse to move again. He stroked its neck to reassure it, his mind already thinking of all the possibilities spreading out like roots, a complex sprawl twisting deep into the earth – all from this one seed.

"We can't move against him yet," he immediately understood. "We have to play it safe–"

He stopped, his train of thought having hit a certain point. He had an idea, but he hated it.

"Bucky, what if I sent you away?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow, questioning Tony, and his face turned sombre when he realised the lord was serious.

"Excuse me, Tony, I think I'm the one that could protect you best. If they want to come at you, they'll have to get through me first," Bucky exclaimed in a heated tone. Tony couldn't help but smile, proud again of how far Bucky had come in over half a year, and somehow pleased to be the object of such a passionate declaration.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you're the one they want, not me. They’re angry at me because I'm keeping you away from the rest of the world, Bucky. If I send you away, they won't be able to attack me without a very good reason, which they don't have, and you'll be safe."

Bucky clicked his tongue, shaking his head, and the horse's ears moved towards the sound.

"I hate when you're right."

"You're proud of me when I'm right. At least, that's what you told me."

"I can be proud of you and hate your idea regardless."

"If it makes you feel any better, I hate my idea too."

"Great. Let's forget about it then."

Tony laughed bitterly. His heart wanted to have Bucky near him, all the time, but his head was telling him it was dangerous for them both. Endangering himself, he could live with it, but he wouldn't let something happen to Bucky if he could prevent it.

"That won't work and you know it." Bucky had to accept it. Tony wasn't sure if he had the guts to force the man to leave, but if he had to go to such an extent, he hoped he wouldn't hesitate.

"Imagine for a second," Tony explained, "that this man is really from Hydra. Then he knows about the words, right?"

A shiver ran through Bucky's body, hard enough to make him shudder and Tony noticed he clenched both his fists and his jaw before answering. "If he is, then chances are high he knows about them."

"So imagine that he uses them. Do you want to live with that?"

"Of course I don't! But I don't want to leave you either!" Bucky shouted, appearing surprised at the volume his voice had reached. The words, and their implication, floated in the air between them, in an eerie silence. Bucky was tense, staring right into Tony's eyes, his lips tightly shut in a thin line. 

Tony's heart was hammering against his ribs, his mouth suddenly dry. It took all the courage he could master, tossing away his fears for a second, to whisper back. "I don't want you to leave me, Bucky."

They exhaled together, and Bucky took a tentative step towards Tony, closing the distance between them. He looked at Tony with an overflowing tenderness, his eyes shining with all the feelings he couldn't possibly put into words.

Tony lost himself in the grey of his eyes, taking in all the details he could. The softness of his hair framing his head, the colour rising on his cheeks, his lips quivering ever so slightly. It felt right to have him so close, and Tony knew he had to revel in it. Soon, Bucky would be far away, and who knew for how long. Until the court was clear of Hydra's presence, at least.

"You're not changing your mind, huh?" Bucky asked softly.

"There's no way."

Bucky sighed, closing his eyes. "Will I see you again?"

"Don't think you'll get rid of me so easily, Bucky," Tony scoffed, trying to alleviate Bucky's evident sorrow. He was rewarded with a grin. "We'll be together again, when all this mess ends. I promise."

Bucky leant forward slowly, until his forehead touched Tony's. They stayed still for a moment, bracing for what was coming for them. Ready to face it, for each other.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter can be found in the end notes.

The rain was killing him. 

It had started over a week ago, and at first Bucky had rejoiced in the opportunity. It hid out his trail, allowed him to blend in with the scenery – dressed in a black cloak, mounted on an old-looking dappled grey mare, he was but an ordinary traveller. Maybe a messenger. Maybe a soldier with his permission to visit his wife or his parents.

Maybe a heartsick wanted fugitive.

Bucky knew he had to hurry. He had reluctantly agreed to part ways with Tony, and hoped with all his heart that Tony had made the right call by pushing him away. Clearly, either his escort hadn’t been as trustworthy as Tony and Jarvis thought it was, or it was all a ploy on Tony's part.

The insidious little voice in Bucky's mind liked to whisper to him that Tony had played him, but Bucky had memories to stand against that suspicion. Tony's gentle hazel eyes were the last thing he thought of before going to sleep, and his joyful, vibrant laughter was what made him get up in the morning. Bucky would summon the image of Tony’s smile and the subtle touch of his hands when the cold was biting him or when the rain fell too hard for him to see further away than the length of his arm. 

He had to continue, to get back to him, for chances were great that Tony would also be attacked soon.

Bucky had left the Tower about a month and a half ago, with a small contingent of soldiers and two knights to accompany him. Their presence had unnerved him at first, with their helmets hiding their features and their flat way of speaking, disguising their accents and the real range of their voice.

As far as he could tell, they hadn't been the ones he had had the most interaction with, the ones who guarded Tony's workshop. But during the weeks they had spent together, riding side by side, Bucky had learnt to appreciate them. He had revelled in their silence, taking in the gorgeous landscapes they had passed through, slowly trying to convince himself that Tony had been right. He had envied the knights’ privacy, their faces hidden behind a layer of metal, only their eyes sometimes shining through, a furtive glint lost in all the reflections.

Because they had been there, Bucky had been able to flee the attack. He hadn't wanted to, of course, but the two knights had left him no choice but to leave. Calling sound arguments, like how he needed to protect their lord, and saying utter nonsense, like his life mattered more than theirs.

Bucky had hated himself the first night he had spent alone, shivering under his cloak – not from the cold, nor the wind, but from wrath. He had wanted nothing more than to turn back, take down each and every soldier that had attacked them, one by one, and give a proper grave to the fallen knights.

He was left with the heartbreaking vision of one of the knights turning to him, taking off her helmet to throw it to Bucky, her blond hair escaping and forming a radiant halo around her face, the youth of her features striking Bucky. Her lips had formed words he had been too far away to hear, before a mask of resolve had covered her fear. She had turned her back to him, her sword already high in the air, ready to take as many people as possible with her to her grave.

Bucky still had the will to kill, he had discovered in that moment, and he was infinitely grateful that Tony had given him the choice to be on the right side. His side.

He hadn't gone back to the location of the ambush. He knew, deep inside, that he couldn't do anything against this large an army, and that he had a more important calling to answer. The soldiers that had swooped on them had worn plain uniforms and there hadn't been an insignia in sight to help identify the lord they belonged to – further proof of their felony – but to Bucky, it only confirmed that they were from Hydra, and Obadiah. The lord was the only one who fielded enough soldiers to spare such a large contingent on a secret attack. Besides, there really was nobody else who could want to get their hands on Bucky so badly.

Which had to mean Tony was in greater danger they had both thought initially. Obadiah hadn't hesitated to attack Bucky's escort to capture him, and it was only thanks to the iron determination of the knights and their disregard for their own lives that he had managed to escape, spurring his mare, leaning over her neck to avoid being struck by an arrow coming from his back, whispering desperate pleas for her to go faster.

He had pushed her to the point of exhaustion, and they had only stopped when she hadn't been able to take another step, almost collapsing on the floor. Even then, he had jumped down from the saddle, glanced behind him and walked his mount by the bridle. He had needed to put as much distance between him and the attackers as possible.

The following days, he had walked alongside the mare, trying to find a hamlet or a farm with someone who could confirm his location and, more importantly, the general direction of the Tower. It was no longer a question of hiding away until the storm had passed. It was about protecting Tony from the beasts coming from him.

Bucky knew Hydra's methods, and at night, during the short periods he allowed himself to sleep, he would dream of Tony being captured and tortured by the very same people who had tortured Bucky. On the good nights, Tony was turned into another Soldier, just like Bucky, and he was charged with killing him. On the worst nights, Bucky was the one in charge of ending Tony's life.

When he found a farm, the old man and his two sons who lived there had reluctantly explained to him how to get back to the Tower. He didn't know if they had recognised him or not, but they had been cautious – something he couldn't really blame them for. No one could predict who roamed in the countryside, and he knew he didn’t look very reassuring, with dark circles under his eyes and a wild beard slowly covering his jaw and cheeks.

As payment for their help, he had removed the fancy ornaments from his bridle and saddle. He had no use for them, and he wanted to give something back to the farmers to make up for the trouble. It had also ensured their silence in case other people were to wander around and ask about him. As soon as he finished, he climbed back on his horse and left, waving a short goodbye before the forest had swallowed him again.

He hadn't encountered any other humans since then. Wild animals, for sure, and he had chosen to sleep on top of branches to avoid them. Waking up face to face with a wild boar wasn't recommended.

For now, he was hurrying his mount as best as he could without risking injury to them both. The rain had made the path slippery, and the sound of water hitting the leaves above him obscured the rest of the usual murmurs of the forest. Bucky sighted a roe deer, and the animal looked just as surprised as Bucky and his mare were, because he stayed still for a few seconds, his golden eyes fixed on them, antlers dripping with water, before dashing through the trees in graceful bounds.

Eventually, the number of wild animals Bucky spotted decreased, and on one particular morning as the mare tentatively walked up a small hill, a ray of sun tore the clouds apart and lit up the scenery, unveiling the tall, slim outline of the Tower in the distance.

An inadvertent sigh escaped Bucky's lips, and he felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The first part of his mission was completed – he had found the Tower without being captured or, as far as he could tell, followed by anyone.

Indubitably, people were searching for him, whether it was on Obadiah's side or Tony's, if the news of his disappearance had reached him already. Perhaps the lord that was supposed to host Bucky had enquired about him. He was one of the rare people Tony trusted with his messenger birds, so he could contact him easily.

If he had sent a traditional mounted messenger, then Tony wouldn’t know anything yet. Bucky had ridden as fast as his mare had allowed him to, cutting out sleep and eating roots and berries here and there, and he hadn't seen or heard another horse pass anywhere near him.

With great care, and murmuring a short prayer for her soul, he unfastened the buckle of the knight's helmet and adjusted it on his head. It was a bit narrow, and rubbed against his beard, but it had the merit of hiding his face.

With the cloak sporting Lord Stark's colours and the helmet, he was ensured access to the Tower, which was the second part of his plan. Then, he needed to find Jarvis, which shouldn't be too difficult as long as he announced he came bearing news of the Winter Soldier.

And then... he would see.

With a soft tap of his calves against his mare’s flanks, he instructed her to resume walking. Adjusting his cloak, he guided her out of the dense woods that surrounded the main road, then increased her pace to a swift trot. As he approached the Tower and its surroundings, he passed more and more people – merchants, farmers with carts or walking alongside their animals, and small groups of people. Thankfully, wearing Stark's colours was enough to open him a passage through the cohort, and he made sure to bow his head to them.

Once the gates of the Tower were in sight, he pulled on his horse's reins to let her walk and he adopted a breathless tone with a rich accent, one from the borders of the king's land, that transformed his voice entirely. He couldn't risk being identified by his voice.

"I come with news! I need to see Lord Stark's servant as soon as possible," he exclaimed to the guards standing at the gates, their spears at hand. They scanned him, noticing the poor state of his saddle and his cloak, the trembling of his hands on his reins and the urgency in his voice, and nodded at him to enter the Tower.

He left his mare with a stable boy, kissing her goodbye and caressing her muzzle one last time.

"You take care of her, boy." Bucky winked at the groom, who nodded frantically and proceeded to lead the mare to the nearest stall with great care. At least she would have a roof over her head and time to recover from the month he had spent pushing her beyond her limits.

Bucky walked out of the stables, jaw clenched as a wave of exhaustion crashed on him. The familiarity of the place made him feel strangely safe and his body was giving up on him, a bitter reminder that despite the long time he had spent healing, a month spent out in the rain, sleeping in trees and living on roots and berries wasn't the best thing that could have happened to him. He was grateful again for the helmet, hiding his sunken cheeks and his dirty, messy hair.

"Where can I find Lord Stark's servant?" he asked a guard standing near the first flight of stairs leading up. As with the soldiers at the gates, he felt the guard's eyes scanning him before an answer came.

"Last time I heard, he was in his gardens..." The soldier's voice died as he hesitated over a title with which to address Bucky, who used the silence as an opportunity to move on.

"Thank you, friend! I have a message of great importance for him, and I'll be sure to mention your help."

He started to climb the stairs up to the Tower, smiling a little at the sight of the soldier beaming and adjusting his posture, proud of himself. It was so easy, somehow, when one had the right uniform and the proper attitude, to enter the Tower. It would have worried Bucky if he hadn't noticed the two soldiers following him from afar, seemingly discussing with each other as they walked to their new assignments, but carefully analysing his every move.

Good. At least there was a semblance of caution.

The smell of the garden's flowers reached him as he climbed the last steps leading to its corridor. It awoke a lot of memories – all the time spent here with Jarvis and alone, taking care of the plants and slowly learning to take care of himself.

He had come a long way, Bucky acknowledged as he entered, the sight of the trees all dressed up with their autumn colours getting a gasp out of him. The two soldiers pursuing him stopped at either side of the entrance, ready to attack, but he disregarded them and dived into the luxurious vegetation.

He knew where to search, he knew exactly where Jarvis was, because the servant had shown him his favourite spot, near the edge of the garden, where he could see the plains surrounding the Tower and the mountains in the distance. A small window out on a landscape Jarvis could never wander in, for he was bound to the Tower and to Tony, only leaving it when his lord did.

The servant was there, sitting cross-legged on the moss, his stance relaxed but his eyes focused and almost cold.

"Sir, I'm afraid I come with grave news," Bucky announced immediately as he dropped to one knee, his head bowed in reverence.

"Speak up, knight, if you're really one of us."

"Believe me," Bucky said mildly, "I want nothing but to protect Lord Stark from the upcoming dangers."

There was a shadow of a smile hovering Jarvis' features, but it disappeared when Bucky carried on.

"The convoy escorting the Winter Soldier to Sir Rhodes was attacked, Sir, by a group of soldiers who carried no banners. They didn't get their hands on him, thanks to the unwavering loyalty and sacrifice of the two knights and all the soldiers riding along, who gave their lives to allow him to flee."

"Did he escape?" Jarvis asked, his voice holding so much concern Bucky had to bite his tongue not to lose control of his voice.

"He did, Sir. He didn't want to, at first, but he was clearly outnumbered and... fighting back would have caused him to be captured, something he deemed worse." Bucky let his head fall, looking at the ground and fighting back the tears burning his eyes.

"It wasn't easy." It wasn't a question. Jarvis waved idly, and Bucky understood when the sounds of ruffled leaves reached his ears that he was dismissing the two soldiers standing somewhere behind him before they could hear their conversation. "What do you want to do now that you've given your message?" he asked.

The answer came immediately and without question. "Protect Lord Stark, Sir."

Jarvis made a "hm" that didn't sound entirely surprised, an eyebrow raised. "Do you wish to tell him you're here, then?"

"No." This time there was surprise on Jarvis' features, so Bucky explained. "I don't want to inflict upon him the pain of having to hide how he feels if I'm near him. Besides, he won't let me stay at his side now that the attack on my convoy proves I’m in danger from Obadiah. So..." Bucky inhaled sharply, bracing for the ordeal to come, "I want to be part of his knights."

Jarvis nodded, clearly approving of the idea. "You'd be at his side and your identity kept a secret. You could take a weapon into most locations a regular soldier wouldn't and you'd be on the front row if Anthony is attacked. You’ve thought about this, James."

"I was well trained," Bucky answered bitterly.

“Well,” Jarvis said. “It would seem I have arrangements to make.”

~°~

The door to Bucky’s new quarters closed behind him and he exhaled, only noticing at this moment that he had been holding his breath.

The room was, as expected, tiny. There was a raised bed with a desk under it, holding basic writing implements, one of Tony's lamps and a few shelves. In the small, adjacent bathroom, there was a bathtub with direct access to the hot water system. There was no window, to preserve the anonymity of the knight that stayed in the room. The door had a single lock, easily picked for someone with Bucky's skills, but that prevented intruders from bursting in without warning, at least.

Bucky sat heavily on the chair facing the desk, adjusting his collar. Jarvis had found him a clean uniform to replace the rags he wore, and his cloak had been sent to the laundry room, with the order of cleaning it as much as possible, assuming it was at all salvageable.

A knight was supposed to fetch him in a few hours, and Jarvis had also sent an order to the kitchens, for Bucky's stomach had growled like a famished beast – which wasn't far from reality. Thankfully, Tony's servant hadn't asked Bucky to take his helmet off, otherwise he would have seen Bucky’s half-starved appearance. It would have caused him much grief, something Bucky definitely didn’t want, and he would no doubt have insisted on taking him directly to the kitchens, thereby ruining any chance Bucky might have had of keeping his presence in the Tower secret.

He had managed to convince Jarvis to follow his plan, which was a great achievement given where he had started off. Now, he mentally enumerated his immediate priorities as he slid back to the Soldier's mindset; first, he needed to eat and sleep, and then to get ready for his first watch.

Then, the wait would begin, and as much as Bucky knew he could wait for months if necessary, he was convinced everything would go south soon. It was only a matter of time before a messenger informed Obadiah that his attempt to capture the Winter Soldier had failed, thwarting that part of his plans.

The next logical step for Obadiah to make was to confront Tony directly and use him as leverage to find Bucky again.

A gentle knock at the door drew Bucky out of his considerations, and he waited until the sounds of steps faded in the distance before putting on his helmet again, opening the door just large enough to collect the steaming plate and then closing it again.

He devoured the meal in minutes, his stomach protesting at first with the sudden amount of food, and he drowned out its complaints with water. He then put out the light, climbed up the ladder leading to his bed and crashed down with a sigh, eyes closing before his head even hit the mattress.

He woke up sweaty and panting, the remnants of a nightmare vanishing from his mind as he gulped and coughed, trying to catch his breath and slow his heartbeat down. For a split second, he thought he was back in Hydra's cell, pitch black surrounding him, and his blood ran cold.

His brain eventually registered the sounds of people passing by his door and the constant rumbles of the Tower, and he unclenched his fists and rubbed his arms in a vain attempt to warm himself.

He descended from the bed, careful not to knock his head on the ceiling, when he heard a soft rattle at the door. He swiftly tied his hair back, then reached for the helmet, his fingers closing around its cold iron and he put it on.

The soft rattle echoed again in the stillness of the room, and he whispered, "Coming," fumbling with his uniform then the laces of his shoes.

Finally, fully dressed and ready, he turned the lock open and peeked outside. A knight was waiting with a sword and a folded cloak in his arms.

"You're Plum, aren't you?" the knight asked in a sing-song voice, and Bucky blinked a few times behind his helmet before his brain did him the courtesy of remembering the conversation he had had with Jarvis about the name he had chosen as a knight.

"Yes! Word of the day is winter," he answered, voice still a bit rough from sleep, though he was thankfully awake enough to remember his fake accent.

"Aye! I'm Pear, nice to meet you. Here's your cloak" – Bucky took it, gratefully draping it over his shoulders – " and your sword." Bucky attached it to his belt, pleased to be properly armed again.

"You're supposed to guard Lord Stark for the day, until I come back to you. I'm–" Pear yawned "–in dire need of some sleep."

"Get some rest, friend," Bucky said, clapping Pear on the shoulder. The inability to see Pear's face or expression was a bit unsettling, but their body language was expressive enough for Bucky to deduce they were exhausted and, so far, seemed to trust him.

"Lord Stark is in his workshop. He shouldn't come out for a few hours, but if he does leave it before I get back, follow him and send a servant to find me. Also, tomorrow’s word is  _ feline _ ."

"Noted!" Bucky exclaimed, already moving away and planning his route through the maze of corridors that led to the Tower. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Pear raise their hand in front of their helmet in a reflex to hide a yawn. He hoped the knight could rest properly.

As he climbed down the first stairs, his body painfully reminded him he had ridden a horse for a month and unsurprisingly hadn't stretched every night. His thighs were killing him, his back was a field of knots and other, sharper pains, like someone had thrown darts at him, and a rather vicious headache made its way to his temples and forehead. Good thing the uniform was a loose fit on him, since it hid the valleys between his ribs.

When he arrived outside the workshop, memories hitting him hard and threatening to overwhelm him, another knight was already on duty. Bucky offered his new nickname and the word of the day, and the knight introduced himself as Spring, his voice so deep that Bucky struggled to make out his words through the reverberations it caused in his helmet.

He placed himself in front of Spring, shoulders squared, right hand on the pommel of his sword, head turned towards the corridor, scanning every passer-by.

There was noise coming from the workshop, of course. The loud clang of metal banging against metal, and the occasional exclamation, whether it be a swear or a celebration. 

Hearing Tony's voice again made Bucky grin widely. It reminded him of all the hours they had spent together in the workshop, Bucky just sitting in a corner and watching or dozing, feeling safe enough to let his guard down but too afraid to admit it, and Tony messing around, trying his best to be silent but inevitably hissing or hitting something.

Bucky had been startled awake many times when he was in there. Now that he thought about it, he could see how his reflexes had changed over the course of the year. At first, he had protected himself, taking up a defensive stance, ready to attack the enemy coming for him. Over time, he had come to protect Tony instead, rushing to his side to check he hadn't hurt himself – which he had, more than once. Tony’s hands and arms often bore bruises and cuts, and the fact that he had allowed Bucky to take care of them had been further proof of his trust.

It was now painful, in an insidious way, to be forced to stay outside of the workshop. Bucky knew what he was getting into – as he had told Jarvis, he didn't want to force Tony to be a part of his pretence, as the other man would only have worried over him and surely would have acted uncharacteristically as he did so, if not downright stupid. This way, Tony thought he was safe with Lord Rhodes, and Bucky could protect him properly.

But not being able to interact with him – seeing him pass by as had happened when Tony bolted out of the workshop to the kitchens, presumably to grab something to eat because his stomach had been growling for too long and he couldn't ignore it any more – was painful. Bucky wanted nothing more than to reach for him, take off his helmet and embrace him tight. Or just whisper him a few words, something only Tony and he knew about, so that he would know it was him. Being ignored was painful, and he kept catching Tony sighing and looking at the window longingly before shaking his head and going back to his business.

It was a sweet torture, Bucky discovered as the days passed by. They morphed into a cycle of short sleeps, more often than not interrupted by nightmares Bucky couldn't recall as soon as he woke up, meals that he  _ devoured _ and hours of guarding Tony with at least another knight, sometimes more when they left the Tower.

They went on a deer hunt one morning, and Bucky made sure to stay close to Tony, gripping the shield he had been provided with for the occasion. An arrow was so easily lost in the dense foliage of the trees. A dog could turn on his master and attack if given the order. A rope attached in between two trunks could break a horse's legs...

And if it was strangely difficult for Bucky to stay focused when Tony was riding alongside him at full speed, a wild grin on his face and his hair a glorious mess, if he had to clench his fists around the reins when Tony whistled for the dogs, eyes shining with the thrill of the hunt and respect for the deer that had managed to escape them, if he wished to be closer when the lord passed him on the corridors or idly gestured for him to follow… Well, Bucky reminded himself that he’d known it was going to be difficult.

He was very talented at defence, as he knew almost all of the common methods used to kill someone and most of the uncommon ones. But Hydra never taught him about feelings. About the longing that clawed at his heart when he happened upon Tony writing a letter for him and entrusting to a messenger the duty of delivering it to Lord Rhodes' retreat. About the unwelcome jealousy that seized Bucky’s throat when lords were visiting Tony, sometimes lingering a bit too close, whispering too mellow compliments. Each word of thanks he received was a balm to his wounded soul, each word of praise a reason to carry on, but the pain was still there.

It was growing, expanding, and Bucky worried it might become too much, even under the Winter Soldier's tight control. Hydra hadn't taught its best asset to feel. They had stripped him of all feelings, torn away his hopes and joys, turned his sorrow and fear into a meaningless void.

He had only learnt confidence, trust and the soft tingling of love when Tony had first welcomed him to the Tower, and he was now learning the painfulness of longing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter include mentions of deaths of background characters (guards), starvation and extreme leanness due to starvation on Bucky's part.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penultimate chapter, and my favourite one! (Also the longest, buckle up and take your time). 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter can be found in the end notes.

On one seemingly uneventful day, Tony was convoked to the king's court. Bucky had noticed the lord was exchanging a lot of messages, both directly with the king and with other lords. He was trying to ease the situation, as he had promised Bucky he would, and the process was painstakingly long.

A summons to an audience with the king could be a turning point – either persuading the king the Winter Soldier could be an important ally instead of being treated as an enemy, or condemning Tony for not being able to get the information out of the prisoner, who hadn't been seen since his last public appearance three months ago.

Thanks to Jarvis' control of the knights assigned to Tony, Bucky was part of the escort. Awakened early by Pear, he kept his cloak wrapped around him to protect him from the insidious cold breeze that tried to reach him as he rode a little behind Tony.

Jarvis had stayed behind this time, for winter was close and farmers of Tony's lands were sending either requests for help or their excess harvest, and it was Jarvis' duty to make sense of the onslaught of messages he received, and to ensure everyone could live through the winter without fearing hunger.

Tony greeted every single person they encountered on the way, sometimes even by name, and pride flared in Bucky's chest – pride to wear the colours and defend the name of such a thoughtful liege, who was doing his best to take care of the people living under his wing.

They reached the king's court and dismounted all together, the clatter of boots and heels on the floor filling the space of the courtyard. Grooms came to take their horses away, and the soldiers were dismissed, some of them visiting friends and acquaintances, most of them in charge of gathering information about the court, the different lords' situations and the people’s perceptions of their leaders.

Tony was kind and compassionate to his subjects, but he was ruthless with the other lords, for a lot of them dreamt of his position and powers. It was a fragile balance to maintain, a game played in dark corners and soft whispers. Bucky alone knew how much of the game was rigged, the outcome at the mercy of a player determined to cheat their way to triumph at any costs.

He and Pear followed Tony as he walked to the audience room, greeting each person he passed as he had done outside, but never halting, even when lords demanded his attention or attempted to have a conversation with him. "I'm awaited by the king," he answered, and that was enough to continue without offending them.

When he entered the audience room, the king was already sitting on his throne, his crown shining in the dim rays of light that filtered through the windows. Obadiah was there, Bucky noticed immediately, and several other lords that he didn’t recognise.

They each had their own knights, and a chill climbed Bucky's spine and made his hair stand when he looked at them. One of Obadiah's had a huge one-handed sword strapped to his shoulder and Bucky couldn't shake the feeling they wanted a fight. Unlike Pear, who calmly scanned the room as they waited by Tony’s side, this knight was all about angry glares and roaming through the room, pushing away anyone who crossed his path with no more than a grunt in place of an apology.

Tony dropped to one knee and greeted the king, and Bucky and Pear followed suit. They waited for Tony to rise to his feet when the king prompted him before standing up as well, and Bucky let his hand rest near his sword's pommel, his breath warming the tight space of his helmet.

"I ordered you here, Lord Stark, so that you could report on the progress you have made with the minion of Hydra you were charged with interrogating," the king said, his voice easily filling up the room and prompting everyone else to fall silent.

"And here I am in front of you, my king."

"What can you tell me? Speak up, Lord Stark."

~°~

Tony didn’t feel well. He had always had a talent of sorts for reading a room, and he didn't like the atmosphere of this one _at all_. Obadiah was there, of course, parading silently next to the king, and he had brought his knights with him this time. There was a strange kind of tension in the air, an underlying feeling of suspense.

It felt like a play to Tony, an absurd one, whose issue had already been decided. Nonetheless, he thought about his answer carefully, and spoke loud and clear, finding comfort in the presence of the two knights flanking him.

"My king, the Winter Soldier does not have further knowledge of Hydra's plans. He was but an asset, and they never gave him more information than what was necessary for his missions."

Obadiah scoffed and almost said something, but the king cast him a cold look that shut him up before turning his attention back to Tony. "Wasn't he a valuable asset, as all the important missions he was entrusted with suggests?"

Sometimes it felt like speaking to the king was useless. Tony had tried explaining to him that the Soldier, Bucky, had been held captive in a cell and only let out to kill, much like the hunting dogs they used, but all he had encountered had been disinterest and silence. He raised his chin and prepared to repeat himself.

"As the reports may have shown you, my king, the Winter Soldier was kept in a cell, and it is believed that he wasn't involved in making Hydra's plans. He was considered a weapon, not worthy of knowing their schemes."

~°~

Bucky almost nodded to himself. The memories of his captivity, the darkness and the pain surfaced again at Tony's words. Even Tony, who made a sincere effort, could never understand what it had been like.

Tony seemingly hoped to make the king understand that the Winter Soldier wasn't aware of Hydra's plan, and was therefore useless to them. It could work, but Bucky had a bad feeling about this.

He noticed agitation from the lords gathered around Obadiah, as well as a newcomer, wearing the livery of the royal messengers, who whispered a few words in Obadiah's ear before being pushed forward by the man himself.

"I beg your pardon, my king, but this messenger here," Obadiah exclaimed as he almost dragged the servant in front of everyone, placing himself between Tony and the king, "has information concerning the Winter Soldier."

The king tilted his head and waved for Obadiah to carry on. The lord put his hand on the messenger's shoulder and said, loud enough to be heard by all, "Speak now of what you know, boy."

The servant looked at him, the king, and Tony, before speaking up with a trembling voice. "About three months ago, your Honour, a convoy left Lord Stark's tower heading towards Lord Rhodes' domain. Lord Stark's administration declared that the convoy was composed of a few soldiers and goods for trade that were sent to Lord Rhodes, either as a gift or to be sold by him to foreigners, for his domain is closest to our borders."

"I know that already, child," the king interrupted, a hint of annoyance in his tone.

Bucky could see Obadiah's grip on the poor boy tightening, his knuckles whitening, and the messenger's voice was full of tremors when he continued. "Your Honour, according to sentinels that were part of a patrol sent by Lord Stane and other lords with him, this convoy did not carry the goods Lord Stark claimed it did. The convoy was composed of several soldiers and two knights, which is too heavy a protection for simple trading products. It is believed that the convoy was in reality an escort for the Winter Soldier, sent away by Lord Stark for unknown reasons."

The poor boy's voice shrivelled up, the last word barely audible over the indignant murmurs of the lords. Tony's head dropped, his shoulders sagging, and Bucky couldn't see his expression from behind but he could imagine the anguish and the doubts that seized the lord at this very moment. So many questions must have appeared in his head. Where was Bucky? How did they know? Was he alright?

"Do you have proof of what you're saying, boy?" the king asked in a glacial tone, bringing silence back to the audience room. "These are serious allegations against a faithful lord who always served me well."

He spoke to the messenger, not Tony directly, which meant he didn't quite believe it yet. And since they hadn't found the Winter Soldier in the convoy – though they had tried, and decimated his guards in the process – there wasn't any proof beyond the word of Obadiah’s soldiers and this poor messenger, who had become a pawn in a game with rules he couldn't even fathom. 

_There is still hope,_ Bucky thought, but he slowly let his hand fall to the pommel of his sword and readied his stance.

~°~

Fear threatened to submerge Tony, too many questions twirling in his mind.

He had to stay focused in front of the king, he had to hide his worry. Taking a deep breath, he held his head high again and met Obadiah's gaze.

What he saw made a shiver run down his spine – it was pure, malicious joy, the look of someone who was sure of their victory and relishing in their enemy's defeat.

Fuck.

"There is official testimony, your Honour, from one of the knights who was travelling with the Winter Soldier. She willingly turned herself in to the patrol and insisted on confessing."

Tony's whole body turned cold, and he heard one of his knights hiss behind him. Knowing their unwavering loyalty to him, there was no way this knight had voluntarily confessed. Either it was a blatant lie, or something far worse had happened to the whole escort, and probably to Bucky. _Where is he? Is he alright?_

"Is the knight willing to testify in front of me and the other lords, Lord Stane?" the king asked, and the messenger used the opportunity to slide out of Obadiah's grasp and walked to the exit as fast as he could without downright running.

Obadiah watched him go with a little smile that made Tony uneasy before clasping his hands together and turning to the king, his cape flapping behind him.

"Yes, my lord. Here she is," he gestured elegantly towards a human-like shape wearing Tony's colours and a knight’s uniform, flanked by two of Obadiah's guards. As they walked closer, literally dragging the knight, the lords grew agitated again, and a few left the room without looking back. Tony understood why as soon as he took a closer look.

The knight had been tortured. It was _obvious_. She had purple and green bruises all over her face, so time had already passed since the blows were delivered. She was limping, and didn't give the impression of being able to stand on her own, resting most of her weight on the two soldiers holding her up.

Obadiah approached, ordered the guards to let her go, and she collapsed on the floor, landing on her knees and hands, her hair falling over her face, dried blood sticking the strands together.

"Now, tell the king what you told us," Obadiah ordered her. She whispered something, too low for anyone to understand, and flinched when Obadiah thundered, "Louder! The king needs to hear you."

"Lord Stark, Your Majesty," the knight breathed out as she tried to get back on her feet, "Lord Stark sent Barnes away to protect him."

~°~ 

Bucky was livid. He gritted his teeth and banked his rage for later, because there was no doubt now he would have to intervene. He just needed the right moment.

The king only raised an eyebrow, a stark contrast with Obadiah's triumphant grin, his arms wide open as if to show to everyone the proof of Tony's collusion with the Winter Soldier.

"Is she telling the truth, Anthony?" the king asked, and the knight turned to them, tears running down her face. _I'm sorry_ , she mouthed, and Bucky didn't know what Tony answered or did, but she closed her eyes and made a poor attempt at bowing to her lord, hovering on her feet, her fist closed in front of her heart.

"My knights would never lie to you, my king."

Audible gasps resonated through the lords, and Bucky noticed there also were soldiers not so discreetly gathering, wearing nondescript uniforms. Just like the ones that had attacked his escort.

"See! I told you, my king, that Lord Stark was of Hydra, just like the Winter Soldier! It was too suspicious for him to take the Soldier to his Tower without prior notice, then to refuse to hand him over."

Obadiah was _jubilant_ , and it made Bucky's blood boil. It was horrible, and terrifying, to witness the accusation of his liege, the man he loved, without being able to do something about it.

_Soon_. It was about to go down. The tension was heavy in the room now, as if there was a storm coming. Pear had their hand on their sword too, mimicking Bucky's stance. They were ready to defend their lord with their lives.

~°~

Something swished through the air, dazzling in the light coming from outside and casting reflections on the tiled floor, and Tony blinked, momentarily blinded. When he opened his eyes again, there was a huge sword under his chin, carried by a knight wearing Stane's colours.

"You, Anthony Stark," Obadiah roared in front of Tony, hiding the king from his sight, "are guilty of treason to the throne and collusion with the enemy."

"James is not our enemy," Tony answered before he could even think of the words his lips formed. Something shone in Obadiah's eyes – jealousy? – but his grin didn't falter.

"Surrender with honour, Stark. Don't inflict upon yourself the shame of a trial. Spare the king the suffering of condemning one of his closest subjects, you who have abused his trust."

The sword moved from under Tony’s chin, the knight wielding it raising it in the air with the clear intent of striking Tony down there and then.

With the eerie sensation that he was moving too slowly to do anything, his fate already decided, Tony tried to reach for the short sword at his hip, his eyes oscillating between his hand and the silver lightning coming for his neck. In the last second, his eyes closed and he braced for the impact, his sword only half out of its scabbard.

~°~

The impact resonated through Bucky's hand, arm, and shoulder, almost pushing him down on one knee. The man was a titan. But Bucky wasn't going to yield.

~°~

A crystal like sound echoed in Tony's ears, and it felt like a single bell ringing, a death knell. He felt the breeze of the sword coming near his neck. Strangely, there was no pain.

~°~

The titan's sword exploded into three parts, one flying close to Bucky's thighs, the other almost cutting Tony's exposed neck. Bucky's sword continued its course, reached the descending arm of the knight and cut deep into the flesh, making the knight scream in pain.

~°~

Ah, there was the first scream of horror, Tony smiled inwardly. Those lords were cowards. Not used to death. Though it was a pretty violent death, and unworthy of a lord, even if he had been guilty of treason.

_I'm sorry, Bucky_ . In the end, it was James he had betrayed. _I did my best_.

~°~

For the first time since he had been moulded into Hydra's asset, Bucky fought with rage. It had never happened to him before – quite the opposite, actually. He had needed to stifle his feelings, burying them deep and ignoring them for the sake of his mission, to preserve his own life over those he had been ordered to take.

But now? Now, rage burned in his body, darkening his vision. He screamed, unable to contain it all, and it came out like the cry of a beast ready to attack the fool that had dared come too close. With years of practice guiding his hand, he yanked the sword out of the knight's arm, lowered his stance and aimed right at the knight’s belly.

He pushed the knight back a few yards, their chain mail stopping Bucky's sword from cutting into their flesh again, but their bones creaked and broke from the strength of the blow. Bucky exhaled one more time, his heart a thundering drum in his ribcage, and placed himself in front of Tony, ready to take down whoever dared to attack the man he loved.

_I told you I'd protect you_ , he thought with a smile.

~°~

There was another loud crash a few yards from Tony, who hesitated, slightly confused. Why wasn't he dead already? What had happened? 

He tentatively opened his eyes and frowned at the person silhouetted in front of him, their back to him. Tony wasn't going to die so soon, it seemed. His brain registered the person in front of him wore his colours, and it took him another excruciating second to understand that one of his knights had just saved his life, bolting in front of him and parrying the blow at the last moment.

"Lord Stane! What is the meaning of all of this? How dared you try to execute one of my lords, your equal, without my consent?" the king shouted, and Tony tilted his head just enough to see Obadiah again. His legs weren't obeying him, he discovered as he tried to get up, and a ragged breath escaped him. He needed to get up and speak.

"Your Honour, it is clear Stark is a traitor! He tried to protect the Winter Soldier over the thousands of lives we could have saved, had he gotten the information we needed out of the Soldier like he was supposed to!"

Ah, Obadiah was shaking a bit. His grand plan to kill Stark in front of everyone in the name of justice had failed.

Tony couldn't pretend he was entirely surprised, for he knew Obadiah had always been too ambitious for his own good, but to murder him publicly was too far from the image Tony had of the lord. He had expected more respect, he realised.

For now, he was alive, thanks to the courage of the knight who had all but jumped under the blade, and was now protecting his lord with his body, ready for another attack.

"That does not give you the right to kill Lord Stark here and now!" the king answered in an icy tone, his fist slamming the armrest of his throne.

Tony’s other knight appeared at his side and crouched next to him. Their expression was hidden behind their helmet, but they nodded at Tony before pointing at his short sword, which he pulled out of its scabbard entirely this time, hands still trembling.

It wasn't over.

~°~

Bucky could feel Tony's presence behind him, and he wanted to jump at Obadiah's throat and slice it open, end it all. But if he wanted the chance to stay with Tony after all this mess, he couldn't do that.

_We need to get out of here alive first, huh_.

The ringing sound of metal suddenly filled the room as Obadiah screeched, and chaos fell upon them all.

The lord grabbed the sword that was thrown to him from one of his soldiers, who all drew their weapons, attacking everyone in the room. He spun the sword in his hand, twirling it, and placed himself in front of Bucky.

"Now, soldier, either you get out of my way or you die," he snarled.

Bucky didn't bother to answer, simply reading himself for the upcoming fight. He was protecting Tony with his life, as both his knight's oath and his heart told him to.

It was liberating to know he fought for good this time, guarding someone he loved. It gave him a burst of energy as Obadiah scoffed and began the fight with a large swing of his sword at Bucky's side.

Bucky parried, and parried again, focusing on not stepping back despite the monstrous strength contained in each blow. He was far from a bad fighter, and fairly strong himself, but the lord's fighting style was closer to woodcutting than actually trying to find a flaw in his enemy's guard. From the corner of his eye, he saw soldiers heading towards the throne, and the king grabbed the ornamental spear that hung over his head.

Parry, counter, parry. He tried to get behind Obadiah's defences and had to dodge at the last second a strike coming from above that he didn't trust his arms to stop. His breath grew short, and the sword was starting to feel heavier. He needed to end the fight soon.

~°~

Tony managed to haul himself to his feet, not quite stable yet, but it allowed him to see the throne behind his guardian fiercely fighting against Obadiah, who was determined to get Tony no matter the cost.

As he cast a look around, he noticed multiple fights around him, with lots of soldiers wearing an unidentifiable livery charging the lords and their guards. The king himself was armed with the spear that Tony had always seen hung above the throne – he didn't know the king could fight, but he was keeping the soldiers at a quite respectable distance, swirling his weapon around him to prevent them from coming at striking range.

However, there were more and more soldiers coming for him, and he wasn't wearing armour, as far as Tony could tell, nor was he even in practical clothes to move around like he was.

A growl brought him back to the fight in front of him and he stepped back instinctively when he realised his other knight had joined his saviour in the fight against Obadiah, and that had angered the lord, who was slamming his sword much like a hammer against both their defences.

He needed to trust his knights. There was no way he was letting Obadiah murder the king – it had to be Obadiah. Just like Bucky had theorised, he was scheming with Hydra to take over the throne. Tony had been naive to think he would play by the rules he had to abide by as a lord. Obadiah had grown tired of it.

He launched himself forward, still unsteady but counting on momentum and adrenaline to help. The realisation that he had only avoided dying thanks to his knight’s intervention was still looming at the back of his mind, along with other implications he would have to think about, but there was no time for that right now. His short sword in hand, he began to make his way towards the king.

~°~

Something passed Bucky, a shadow with gold and red, and it took a few seconds to understand Tony had left his protected position behind Pear and Bucky, for some reason, to enter the fight.

Pear blocked a strike coming at him and Bucky used the opportunity to attack, hitting Obadiah's thigh. The man growled again, his whole face and neck red, but nothing changed. It felt like fighting a berserk – Bucky was grateful Pear was there, for he now doubted his ability to completely block one of Obadiah's blows.

He wasn't used to fighting with a sword for too long, his weapon of choice being daggers and knives, but Pear made up for his lack of practice with a flamboyant parry and counter combination, forcing Obadiah to turn around them.

_Oh_.

The king was under attack, that was why Tony had moved.

_Shit_.

"Can you survive for a few minutes on your own?" he shouted breathlessly to Pear, who to their credit did not flinch when they heard his voice.

"Go," they answered, dodging a blow with a swift jump to the side, pulling Obadiah away for a couple of steps.

Bucky nodded and ran to Tony.

~°~

How many soldiers had Obadiah brought? Tony had lost count of those he had defeated – they weren't unskilled, but he had years of practice behind him, and a certain kind of fury from having just escaped death. He gave the finishing blow to yet another one, that fell down the steps leading to the throne. He was getting closer, at least.

He was almost to the king when a dagger flew by him to hit his opponent right in the shoulder, giving him the perfect opening to strike. He looked around and spotted the knight that had saved him kicking a soldier in the chest, propelling them away.

Uh, yeah. It was likely the knight was cursing him for running away from safety. But they had to understand – just like them, he had an oath to keep.

_Stay focused, Tony_ , he warned himself as a sword slid against the chain mail over his chest.

He fought to give the knight the opportunity to rejoin him, which they did, and then turned to the king again, who was in a bad position, cornered against his throne.

~°~

Bucky was deeply worried, but it was lost in the thrill of the fight. He was past the point where he analysed the flaws and openings of his enemies, past thinking about stances and counters and feints – he was the bringer of death among those traitors that menaced Tony's life, and he was fighting alongside Tony, which in itself was enough to galvanise him.

Only a few soldiers were still standing between them and the king. Pear was still alive, he observed with a quick glance behind him as he ducked down, pushing on one soldier's shoulder to avoid a vicious blow to his stomach. They could do it.

~°~

Tony saw the king's spear cut in half, and fear painted on the monarch's features. He was too far away, still too far...

He met his knight's eyes and pointed at the throne with his chin, receiving an almost imperceptible nod as an answer. If he hadn't been terrified, he would have admired the synchronisation between him and his knight – they fought well together, had each other’s backs and trusted each other enough to be ruthlessly efficient. All he wanted for now was his sovereign to be alive.

~°~

Bucky saw Tony's eyes, saw the king getting ready to defend himself with half a spear, nothing more than a staff now, and he understood.

_Better not fucking die now, Tony_ , he thought. He couldn't believe he was leaving him to fight on his own.

_I'm trusting him_.

He charged onward with his shoulder first, sword ready to intercept anyone who dared to cross his route. Fortunately, the two soldiers that were between him and the king chose dodging over dying, and with a cry he threw his sword at the king's attacker – not a soldier but a lord, he realised at the last second, when the sword hit near the clavicle and pushed the lord back until he fell of the stairs.

The king turned to him, fear vanishing in favour of incredulity.

Bucky grabbed the dagger strapped at his belt, twirling it in his fingers, exhilarated. With a new energy, he struck another lord coming for the king, who managed to retrieve a sword for one of the fallen soldiers.

Together, they pushed away their remaining foes, breaking their formation and causing a good portion of them to flee. Bucky did his best to ensure Tony was safe, and he was relieved to see him panting, surrounded by bodies on the floor but very much alive himself. Obadiah was nowhere to be seen, although there was a red trail leading to the door, and Pear was kneeling on the floor, their sword near them.

Bucky rushed to them, worried, and, as he came within hearing range, asked, "Are you alright?"

Pear took away their hands from their ribs, showing blood covering their fingers. Immediately, Bucky knelt near them and tried to assess the damage.

"Hey, it's alright. He just grazed my ribs – it's bleeding, but it's not deep," Pear reassured him, pushing his hand away with a small laugh. "I'll have a scar to show my friends once I'm retired!" they added jokingly.

"Keep pressure on the wound, I'll have someone to take care of you now!"

Bucky was certain he heard the knight sigh, but he wasn't letting his friend die on his watch. He hurried to the king's guards, who had finally entered the room. Some of them were still dumbstruck, realising how close they had been to a change in ruler.

"The knight over there" – he pointed to Pear – "needs medical attention right now."

A guard nodded to him and went to locate a physician, who trotted over to Pear immediately. Bucky exhaled deeply, relief crashing over him like a wave. His body chose this moment to remind him he had recently fought for his life and was suffering a good number of contusions himself.

His arms throbbed and his wrist hurt like hell. For a second, the room began to turn around him and he almost fell, until a hand appeared in his back and supported him.

"Woah there, you good?"

It was Tony. Bucky almost did something stupid, namely throwing his helmet away to finally embrace Tony like he wanted to. Instead, he shook his head and did his best to appear unaffected.

"Yes, my liege," he answered, and he instinctively leant into the touch when Tony walked around him and wrapped an arm against his waist.

"Not that I don't believe you, but you don't look good to me, and it'll give a bad impression if the knight that saved both my life and the king's passed out." Tony's tone was a bit worried, behind the joke, and Bucky saw him glancing, searching for wounds over his body. But there were none – just a few scrapes on his arms at worst. His uniform was a mess, though, showing the chain mail he had decided to wear under it, which had probably saved his life.

~°~

The knight was heavily relying on Tony to stand up, but they seemed alright otherwise. There was no blood visible, and a glint of metal behind the rips in their clothing revealed the chain mail they wore.

Tony’s head was a complete mess, and if he was completely honest, he was also relying on the knight for support himself. They balanced each other as they slowly, painfully walked closer to the king, who was absorbed in an intense discussion with his personal guards. Tony's other knight was being evacuated, but they gave Tony and his companion a thumbs up as they were lifted and transported out of the room, so it wasn't too bad.

Still, he had almost died. He had almost fucking died, thanks to Obadiah's greed. And if Obadiah knew about the convoy hiding Bucky, what had happened to him? Was Obadiah going to try and use him?

The king noticed them as they approached and dismissed his soldiers.

"Tell everyone to get out, please," he asked the highest ranked soldier that was around, and they obliged with a formal bow, leaving Tony, his knight and the king alone in the room. They waited in complete silence until the last body was dragged out of the room, and the tension vanishing made Tony laugh involuntarily, a tired giggle that shook him until he hissed and tried to stop. Laughing was painful.

"You laugh in the face of death, Anthony?" the king said, an eyebrow raised, before he sat without ceremony on the stairs in front of them.

"I celebrate the fact that I'm alive, thanks to the wits of my knight, your Honour."

"Ah, that's right. I should do the same."

The king turned to the knight, who Tony felt inhale sharply.

"Thank you," was all the king said, bowing his head, and it was strange to have such a powerful reminder of the fact he was but a human, as mortal as all of them, with emotions and fears and a life to lose. Tony had always seen him as a compassionate, but efficient ruler, capable of taking difficult decisions. Above them all. Getting old, sure, but so slowly it was as if he was ageing differently.

He felt like he could understand how the king felt. It was a horrifying sensation, to have your life taken out of your control. To be threatened with death so suddenly. It wasn't the brutal death of battles, in which one knew there was always a risk. It was the paralysing realisation that death was coming and there was nothing to be done, not even time to accept it.

"My king," the knight finally said, and there was something different about their attitude, like apprehension building.

"Ask."

Tony let the knight slip out of his embrace, untangling their arms until they were both standing on their own. With great care, the knight knelt, and as their hands went to the helmet covering their head, their voice entirely changed, making Tony's heart jump.

"I request a favour," the Winter Soldier said, hair falling around his face as his blue eyes stared at the king, who didn't flinch.

"And what could the Winter Soldier want of me, hm?"

"Absolution. As Lord Stark said to you, I am not your enemy and never intended to be. I'm free of Hydra's control, and I–" he gasped, struggling to keep control over his voice, "I desperately want the chance to make amends for my actions under their command."

"Granted."

~°~

"Granted," replied the king, as if it was nothing.

"Wait, just like that?" Tony exclaimed, echoing Bucky's thoughts.

"He could have killed both of us only a few minutes ago, Anthony, and there was nothing we could have done. Besides, even though you may not believe it, I listened to your pleas, all this time. If you trust him, which I'm convinced you do, I may as well take a leap of faith and trust him too."

Bucky's vision blurred, and when he rubbed his eyes to clear it, he felt tears running down his face. It had happened. He was free.

He turned to Tony and finally did what his heart had begged him to do since he had returned to the Tower – even before that, before he had parted ways with Tony. He opened his arms wide and hugged his lover, letting him hide his head in the crook of his neck, his arms sliding back in the curve of his back.

"Can I kiss you?" Tony asked, whispering.

"In the front of the king?" Bucky answered with a laugh, overjoyed at finally having the right to be next to Tony, touch him, talk to him normally.

"The king is going to have a nap, you can kiss all you want," the monarch's voice said behind him, making them giggle.

"You have royal permission," Bucky teased, letting his forehead fall against Tony's.

“And yours?”

“Always.”

They stared at each other, Bucky taking in all the details he hadn't quite seen yet, and that he wanted to engrave in his memories forever. Just like him, tears began to form at the corner of Tony's eyes before they fell and rolled down his cheeks. Tony raised his chin and very chastely let his lips touch Bucky's, before hiding again, his breath hot against Bucky's clavicle.

"How about we go back home, huh?"

"You have a lot of things to tell me."

"We have the time. And I'm hungry."

"You did save the day, I guess you can eat and sleep for now. We have enough knights to replace you."

There was silence between them, then, "Bucky?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you."

Bucky wanted to say _Thank you_ too, wanted to say _You're the one who saved me_ , and a thousand other words, but his throat was too tight and his jaw trembled, so he just pressed Tony's hands in his, gently, and let the dam holding back his emotions open, sobbing and sniffling.

"Hey, we'll be alright."

"Yeah."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter include non graphic violence (sword fights), and mentions of torture on a background character (non graphic, bruises and cuts and limping).


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the last chapter! An sweet epilogue after all their adventures. 
> 
> Thank you for following Wren and me with this story! Remember to show some love to [Wren](https://massivespacewren.tumblr.com), she's an amazingly talented artist and it was an absolute pleasure to work with her!
> 
> And one more time, I'd like to thank my beta, [EachPeachPearPlum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EachPeachPearPlum), for making this story better.

“That was the last one?"

"Unless you remember another one, yes, it was."

"So it's over?"

"I guess so?"

"I'm free?"

"Certainly sounds like it."

Bucky let himself slide down in the chair he was strapped to as the final weight lifted from his shoulders, making him feel like he could fly.

He had dreaded doing these tests, but after months of Tony cajoling, comforting and reassuring him, he had felt confident enough to give it try. He had let Tony design a chair capable of holding him back entirely, and had insisted on having knights all around him, for his fear of hurting Tony, even though he wanted nothing less in the world, was immense.

After a gardening session with Jarvis, a good spar with Pear who had healed perfectly and proudly sported a thin white scar over their right ribs, and meditation to make sure he was ready, Bucky had let Tony strap him to the chair, testing if he could escape – he couldn't. He had no weapon, he was defenceless.

Which was important, Tony had repeatedly told him, because he didn't need to be armed. It was going to be alright.

Tony had begun to say the first word, and Bucky had instinctively clenched his fists and braced himself for the mental switch, but nothing had happened. Nor did he change after the second word, or the third, or any of them. There was merely a tingling at the back of his neck, and possibly a bit of a migraine, but that could be because of how hard his jaw was clenched.

Hydra's control over him no longer existed. He still could use the Winter Soldier's mindset, just like entering a focus mode if he needed something done, but he couldn't be turned into a mindless killing machine any more.

"Good thing you were hidden behind that helmet when Obadiah attacked. He might have tried to use the words otherwise."

"I told you, I thought about that beforehand."

"Still don't like the idea that you were so close to me for so long without me knowing. I thought you were off flirting with Rhodey, enjoying a peaceful retreat near the borders and learning the arts of trading with him, and instead you were spying on me."

"I had to spend every day at your side without saying a word about it. It was _horrible_."

"But it's over."

"Indeed."

"And now you won't have to worry about words any more, and you'll finally agree to read me something to help me fall asleep."

Bucky grunted, making Tony laugh, a crystal sound that resonated throughout the room and filled Bucky's heart with joy.

"Not my fault you have the most soothing voice."

"I think your knights have had enough of watching us flirt, Tony."

"Then out! Out and away, my friends, I have my very own personal knight in shining armour to protect me," Tony exclaimed as he opened the last buckle holding Bucky, who jumped to his feet and swayed Tony into his arms.

"See? The perfect knight!"

Bucky rolled his eyes, but his heart was content. There was still a long way to go, but he was now sharing the ride with Tony, and Jarvis, and everyone at the Tower, so it didn't feel scary any more. Despite what the little voice in his head had tried to make him believe for so long, there had been hope for him.

And even though the shadow of what he had done would always loom in a corner of his head, it was something he was willing to carry with him. He had his lover's light to balance it all.

He took Tony out of the workshop, closing the door with a vigorous kick and headed to the kitchens.

"Wait, you're hungry _again_?"

"Yes."

**Author's Note:**

> If you have a moment and enjoyed your reading, feel free let me know your thoughts in the comments! Thank you~
> 
> And remember to show some love to [MassiveSpaceWren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/massivespacewren)!


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